


Someone to Call on Sundays

by livebynight



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Female Assassin, Flashbacks, Flashforwards, Frank is a grump, Hurt/Comfort, Porthos the pitbull, Post Season 2, References of Graphic Violence, References of Torture, but Frank is a caregiver, matt is kind of a jerk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-16
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-06-02 12:31:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 30,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6566281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livebynight/pseuds/livebynight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You gonna take care of me, Frank?”</p><p>Frank glared at her. Her sarcasm was obvious. It was also the first time she called him by his name. He still didn’t know hers. ‘I’ve always liked Myah', she joked once. Sure, she joked again now. But he still couldn’t find it in him to say no, either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. About Four Months Ago

About four months ago.

 

She didn’t budge as he approached. Her 98B was propped up on the edge of the roof directed at tinted apartment windows two blocks away; her form lay flat on the cement preceding it. The Kitchen was quiet, but it was some time around four in the morning last he checked.

Few things stirred him – made him pause in his actions. A young woman with a snipe, perched on the edge of a roof not too long before sunrise was one of those things.

After a moment – “Can I help you?”

Another one of those things. Another moment passing. 

“Look,” She spoke. Voice barely above a whisper. “If you’re about to make this a confrontation, fair warning I already had plans.”

Upon receiving no more than silence, her gloved hand fell from the scope and she tilted her head over her shoulder. 

Dark eyes appraised him for mere seconds before she focused her attention back to the scope. Ponytail ruffling in the soft breeze.

“Taking out the trash?”

“I know you?” He started.

Her elbow shifted on the cement. Focus waivered her attention from him as her hips hitched slightly forward, tilting the grip of her rifle in her left fist. 

This time she sounded even more distant. “Nah, but I know you…” she spoke slowly, right hand readjusting. “Everyone does.”

He ignored the sentiment and instead a sigh parted through his lips. His own rifle came to perch on his shoulder. He thought of the rarity of finding another snipe on the same roof, this time of night. Curiosity got the best of him.

“Kazanoff?” 

Even through the breeze he would have sworn he heard her chuckle.

“Now, how did you know that?”

“Guess we’re taking out the same trash.”

“You gonna kill me too?”

Okay – three things that night. This was definitely a record.

“Excuse me?”

Her right hand left the scope again to send a waving gesture in his direction. “Retribution, or whatever. Isn’t that your thing?” Hand falling to the ground, she looked at him a second time. 

Eyes narrowed, he scuffed his boot on the pavement. “Here for him. Not you.”

“Well, unlike you,” she started, turning back to her gun, finger landing on the trigger this time, “I get paid with cash, not retribution. So if you don’t mind…?” 

Taking his silence for answer, she gave the 98B a light squeeze. The rifle was best for precision, not power. But when a bullet soars out of a firearm meant for long-range sniping, finding its home in between a set of human eyes, a little less power didn’t make much a difference. 

Frank had to admit he was impressed. Besides himself, he hadn’t seen shooting like that since Afghanistan. 

He eyed her as she disarmed and packed the rifle away. She stood, swinging the strap of its case over her shoulder, and turned toward him. She was short; five foot, five inches at most in what looked like oversized combat boots. Black pants were snug on her muscular calves and thick thighs. A bullet-proof vest was snug on her waist, layered on top of a thin, long sleeved thermal.

How familiar.

He hadn’t realized the small smirk that graced his face until she tilted her head at it. 

“Something funny?” She asked.

Shrugging, the smirk vanished, instead replaced by quirked lips as he sized her up. “Just wondering what a girl is doing taking hits in a place like this.” 

“I look like a girl to you?”

“Don’t mean no offense, ma’am.”

“How old I look?” 

Frank couldn’t understand why she was being argumentative. Instead he gestured toward her weapon and gave a nod to the distant target a couple blocks behind her. “Worried ‘bout getting caught?”

He got a shrug in response and his shoulders slumped. “Untraceable. I get paid after they see the coroner’s report. Gonna turn me in?”

“No.” Frank said. She shrugged once again and stepped aside, walking past him. He made no move to follow her. As far as he was concerned, she wasn’t some maggot he’d grown accustomed to in the past few years, and he had no qualms with her trade if it meant making his caseload lighter.

 

Present.

 

She stood next to Daredevil as they appraised the small mob in front of them. Her brass knuckles were tucked in the backside of her pants, but her pistol was spent moments ago, and she didn’t have super senses like him. They were outnumbered. And though she found Daredevil to be completely reckless on the best of days, even he seemed defeated at this point.

“Just give us girl – we don’t want trouble with you,” spoke who seemed to be the leader of the group. She took a cautious step backwards; Daredevil did nothing.

“Devil of Hell’s Kitchen; we don’t want to start.” The speaker said again, insistent. 

“Take her, then.” The Devil said.

Mouth agape, her head whipped to the side to face him, her voice uttering – “Matt-” softly enough that only he would hear.

He paid her no mind and instead took two steps back as the leaches caved in. Both of his hands moved in her direction; an offering for them.

Before she could say anything else, the sound of footsteps approached and a fist connected with her cheek. Surprised, she took a knee to the ground as what felt like a pipe connected with her back. A gasp rattled its way through her chest, and she barely got a last glance at Daredevil as three men took hold of her limbs and forced her into a van.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had to write this story off my chest.
> 
> A few chapts have already been written and will get longer as they go. Promise xx
> 
> Hope you enjoyed ^^


	2. Around Three and a Half Months ago

_Around three and a half months ago._

Several days had passed when Frank saw her for the second time. Soon after the night on the roof, he found out that another man was killed in the same fashion; a bodyguard for some well-known criminal involved with the Serbian Mafia. It baffled him that a small girl – excuse him – a _young woman_ , would be getting mixed up with the Serbs. Who the hell was she involved with that she was getting paid for taking hits on them?

Frank would fuck with just about anybody. She had been right that night, about his need for retribution, he was infamously called the Punisher for a reason. But there was also an apathy for his own self-care that contributed to his willingness to take on violence.

If absolutely necessary, with extreme reluctance, with in-depth preparation and consideration, sure, Frank would fuck with the Serbs. They did have a reputation of skinning and making sandwiches of their enemies faces after all.

He recalled all of this as he bumped into her as she left a pawn shop he was entering. Attempting an apology, he stammered as he did a double-take. She was in casual gear – an olive green sweater and jeans. Her curly brown hair was free of a ponytail.

She barely glanced at him - her attention instead focused on flipping through pages of a book - muttered ‘Sorry,’ and continued out the door.

His brows furrowed and he watched her walk out the door and make a right turn onto the sidewalk. Adjusting the cap on his head, he continued on to the glass counter and waited patiently for his usual purchase of six cases of magnums.

The young woman was still on the same block. She waited at an intersection at the back of a crowd as the orange light across the street displayed a hand. The small paperback was still in her hand, closed now, hanging at her side. The backpack she wore made Frank wonder what she had really bought in the pawn shop.

 _The fuck did he care?_ He silently scolded himself. Whoever she was, he was pretty certain he didn’t want to be involved.

Frank couldn’t help himself. The light changed and she moved with the crowd crossing the street. He kept a good distance behind her; if she hadn’t noticed him when he knocked into her inside a shop, she shouldn’t be able to notice him keeping a few yards’ distance.

He followed her downtown, heading towards Washington Square Park. The distance between them increased after he missed a light. He crossed and looked right, then left. Didn’t see her in either direction so he kept heading south.

His pace slowed as the swarm of people grew thinner and thinner. Couldn’t help himself but let out a raspy chuckle when someone whistled at him. Eyebrow raised, he stopped and his head swerved to the left.

“You should probably become more aware of your physicality.” She called to him. She leaned on the alley side of a building, smiling at him with her arms crossed over her chest, sunglasses covering her eyes, book tucked in her armpit.

“Didn’t see me in the shop.” He countered.

She rolled her eyes and dropped her arms, smacking her hands on her faded blue jeans. “Course I did. Don’t think I could forget that face.” Her chin jutted in his direction before her head tilted in consideration. “Though… I think it’s more memorable with the bruising.”

Frank wasn’t sure how he was supposed to take that.

She stared at him a moment longer and ran her hand over the back of her neck. “Anyway, why you following me?”

He took two large steps toward her as a pair of people walked by. His fingers tugged on his cap again. She waited for an answer.

“What were you doin’ in the shop?” He hadn’t been prepared with something to say in the event of being caught.

“Am I on your radar now?” She asked. “’Cause to be honest, not really lookin’ to be there.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Then what’d you mean?”

“I wondered if you made a habit o’that.”

“What?”

“Killin’ Serbs.” He put quite bluntly. “Ones who’re connected.”

She suddenly looked angry. She pushed the sunglasses to the top of her head and glared at him. Frank’s stance turned defensive as she grabbed his forearm without hesitation and pulled him closer to her, eyeing a few more people that walked by. Not one of them seemed to notice. It was turning to dusk now; it’d start getting darker.

“You mind?” She asked, lowering her voice. “If you haven’t noticed, I tend to keep a low profile. Yknow, no decorative skull on my chest or nothin’.”

Frank tugged his arm from her grip. He should have thought better. Should have gone back to his place and fed the dog. “Look, ma’am, I told you then I wasn’t gonna rat you out. Take it easy.”

Her shoulders relaxed and her eyes softened. They even looked somewhat apologetic. “Sorry. Been a little tense lately.” She let her backpack slide down her arm and held onto the strap to put her paperback inside. “Y’know, I had a run-in with that _Daredevil_ character a few days after that. After the roof, I mean. Gotta say, not a very nice guy.”

Frank choked back a laugh. The first laugh he would’ve had in months. “That right?”

“That’s right. _Ruined_ my post. Absolute buzzkill. Couldn’t collect on that one till this past weekend. Had to _start over_.” Frank was baffled. He hadn’t heard anyone talk like that since he’d been overseas. Second time now she brought his thoughts back to _that_ _shit_ since he tried to leave Frank Castle in the past. “Surprised by my target? Well imagine the salary cut when I’m _late_.”

“Yeah, Red don’t take too kind to that kind of business.”

She gave the nickname half a second’s thought before nodding. “Tell that to my cracked rib.”

He cocked a brow, “You two fight?”

“Surprised again?” He waited. “He kicked my piece so I took out my backup. Fired three times before he started this parkour shit. Honestly.” She shook her head and looked away from Frank as she recalled the night. “We got split up when the cops showed up.”

Frank stared hard at her for a hot second. She didn’t seem to mind. Looked at anywhere but him as she seemed to recall the events. Huffed at her frustration over the ordeal.

“Who are you?” He finally asked quietly.

 “Loaded question.” She replied.

 

 

 

 _Present_.

 

 

 

“Let’s see if I got this right.”

Silence.

“You offer her a lending hand on her one-woman mission – out of the _goodness of your heart_ ,” he pauses, giving an opportunity for Daredevil to interject. More silence. “Her lead doesn’t take you to the top dogs you’ve got your _own_ agenda for, yeah?”

Daredevil tightened his lips but still said nothing. “So you let ‘em grab her so they can-”

“I put a track on her.”

The Punisher was tempted to laugh in his face. “Well, shit… Excuse the hell out’a me, then. You let those scumbags grab her so you could _track_ them. That right, Red?”

Daredevil grew impatient at his mockery. “Look, she’s been taking hits on the mafia for the past five months. She held her own against me, against some of those men who are three times her size and-”

“You have any idea what they’re gonna do to her?” His voice was monotonous, darkly humming from the pit of his chest.

“I need your help, Frank.” If possible, Frank’s glare turned darker in his eyes. “I know she means something to you,” his voice grew louder as he spoke, keeping Frank from interrupting, “I could hear your heart race when I mentioned her; I can feel your rage now. I couldn’t begin to fathom what it is with you two but I can’t get her on my own and it’s already been twenty-four hours. I need… I need your… where are you going?”

Frank was stomping away and Daredevil heard him muttering ‘ _twenty-four goddamn hours…_ ’

“Need more guns.”

Catching up to him, Daredevil grabbed him by the shoulder and turned him sharply. “I can’t let this be a bloodbath.”

Frank said nothing, instead eyed the hand on his shoulder which Daredevil sensed, and promptly removed it. “Fuck you ask me for help for if you won’t ‘allow it’?” He growled rhetorically. He turned away from him and took off again adding “You better hope they needed information from her. Otherwise she’s already dead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So as I reread this for the umpteenth time, I couldn't help but think that my use of 'magnums' may be confused for condoms.  
> To clarify - I definitely was referring to bullets XD


	3. Two Months Ago

_Two months ago._

They decided on coffee. It was another late night and they’d passed the half a dozen mark on random meets. It was a silent agreement, it seemed, that coffee was the next step. Wherever she was living, it was slightly outside of the Kitchen, and considering past events, Frank tended to avoid the area when he wasn’t busy taking out the trash. They ended up at a Greek Diner with few other people present.

He took his coffee black, no sugar; she took hers black, one packet. The waitress left the pot on the table.

She had her backpack again and was writing inside the same paperback he’d seen her rifling through a few weeks ago. It was a diary. He was tempted to ask what she was writing but chose against it. For reasons he couldn’t understand, every time he saw her his brain was muddled with handfuls of questions he felt the need to ask her. He felt the need to dig. But restraining this time, he busied himself by looking out the window. His fingers drummed on the mug.

“Names… transactions. I use drop phones most of the time, so I like to keep things written down.”

“Ma’am?” Frank looked at her; he knew she didn’t like when he addressed her like that. She knew that he knew. He did it anyway.

“You get this fidgety look, y’know. Like, uh…” She scribbled quickly with her pen to finish her thought and closed the book. Tucked it back in her backpack. “You need to ask things.”

As per usual, he stared. Unblinking.

“That, too.” She muttered, her voice half sheltered by her mug as she took a sip of coffee.

She could’ve sworn he growled and his shoulders slumped, his fingers picking the pace back up on his coffee. She raised her brows at him and set the mug back down. Perched her elbows on the table and leaned in.

“Who are you?”

“The repeated question.”

Frank licked his lips, shook his head, and leaned back against the seat cushion.

“Why does it bother you?” She asked. There was a moment of quiet so she mimicked his motions and leaned back in her seat.

Tonight she wasn’t wearing what he was accustomed to, save for one time prior. Her frame was hidden in a raggedy flannel, a grey shirt underneath. Black leggings covered her bottom half and were tucked in her combat boots. The combat boots he remembered.

“You’re just-” He paused to scoff at himself. “I can see you’re no little girl. What you do… coming from a Scout Sniper – it’s… impressive. I don’t think you’re a soldier.”

“I’m not.”

Frank tilted his head in a nod, “But I look at you. You shouldn’t be mixed in this. You should be looked out for. You should have friends; a boyfriend – girlfriend, whatever. Parents who look forward to your phone calls every Sunday.” He couldn’t help but notice the blank look in her eyes as she listened. “I look at you… I look at you and I don’t see any of that. And it…”

“Confuses you?”

His gesture said ‘for lack of a better word’.

She finished off her coffee and refilled both their mugs. Frank didn’t usually talk much when they met and they fell into a heavy silence while she ripped open a sugar packet and dumped the product in her drink.

“You’re right. I don’t have friends. I don’t have a boyfriend – or girlfriend. I don’t have parents. Or anyone to call on Sunday’s, for that matter. And I look after myself.”

They sat in still for a while, both of them just about finishing off their second cup of coffee before she spoke again.

“You gonna take care of me, Frank?”

Frank glared at her. Her sarcasm was obvious. It was also the first time she called him by his name. He still didn’t know hers. ‘ _I’ve always liked Myah'_ , she joked once. Sure, she joked again now. But he still couldn’t find it in him to say no, either.

                                              

 

~

 

 

The job paid well, she wouldn’t deny. But in this world there were complicated things like health care and the IRS, and jobs off the books didn’t really help her to avoid those. Not enough pay, she’d be fined for lack of health insurance. Too much cash to pay, IRS started looking.

When she moved from city to city she kept work with temp agencies. Rarely did she take forty-hour week positions, but per diem helped make sense of the bills. She had no qualms with using her real information. Her off the books employers would never give her up. Too much history that traced back to her birth. Too risky to rat her out.

It helped that she was exceptional at what she did, giving them the incentive.

The temp job she received this time around involved bookkeeping for Medicare. When November began, the DOH started inspecting corporations of all kind. Home health care, dentistry, and law firms included. All over New York, Medicare was all hands on deck, hiring in bulk to keep up with the paperwork.

For a few weeks now, she’d spent her afternoons going from office to office - collecting billing, reviewing charts, and looking into Medicare fraud cases. Making sure everything was up to date and had no discrepancies.

By Thursday, the names of companies and firms started blending together. She averaged on six a day, collecting paperwork to present to the proper auditors.

Back in Hell’s Kitchen, she climbed three floors worth of steps in proper business attire – heels included – to a law firm on her list. She rapped her knuckles twice on the door before turning the knob and entering.

The main office was relatively quiet. The heat was on, making her strip her coat due to the sweat built up from the stair climb. A secretary was on the phone, nodding along haphazardly to whatever she was hearing on the other end. She seemed happy to have her attention diverted for a moment and covered the mouthpiece with her hand.

“Appointment?”

“I’m here to see – uh…” She looked through her paperwork, “Matthew Murdock?” 

“Please hold.” The secretary said on the phone, then paged Murdock with another button.

Eventually the door to her left opened. A slim man with dark hair, about six-foot-tall emerged from the office. He adjusted his red shaded, round framed glasses, his other hand gripped onto the frame of the door.

“That time of year again already?” He asked with a charming smile. His face sought in her direction. “Hi, I’m Matt Murdock. I took the initiative to pull a few case files I had an inkling you might be looking for. I’m sure you have a long list to get through. Step inside my office and I won’t waste any more of your time, Ms.…?”

“Viteritti.” Pulling a file out of her bag, she moved passed him as he held the door open for her. “Actually, Mr. Murdock, lucky for me this is the smallest amount of paperwork I’ve had to obtain so far.” She put the file on his desk as he made his way back around it. “Here’s the report we ran of your fraud cases over the past year. All won on your end so this should be pretty uncomplicated. Transcribed in braille, of course.”

She paused to look up at him and did a double take at his facial expression. “Are you… are you okay?”

Murdock’s charming smile had completely vanished. Instead his lips were pressed into a tight line, his forehead tilted toward her in a way that made her think that he’d have been staring if he had his eyesight. He cleared his throat and tugged his tie, then gripped the back of his chair.

“Yes, I’m fine. I apologize.” She cocked a brow as he scooted around his chair and took a seat, grazed his fingers over her file.

“If you’d like…” She said slowly, “I can give your secretary the fax number for after you sort this all out. I’m sure you’ve got a bu-”

“That would be great. Thank you.”

“Right.” She worked her coat back on, her brows furrowed, confused by his sudden change in his demeanor. “Well, thank you for your time, Mr. Murdock.”

Her hand had barely grasped the doorknob when he said, “How’s that cracked rib?”

She stopped, certain she heard wrong. He sat still behind his desk, and when she turned her head to look at him, he appeared to be waiting for a reaction.

“What?”

Matt’s serious demeanor cracked a little at her feigned obliviousness. “The cracked rib. Those can be a bitch if you don’t let it rest.”

There was an uncomfortable moment of silence as she tried to figure out what to say next. The wheels turned in her head. Making sure the door was solidly closed, she almost asked how he knew; she’d only told one person about that confrontation and was sure he wouldn’t – oh.

Then, “You’re him. You’re Daredevil.”

He finally allowed a small smirk to grow on his face. “I should really be asking who you are.”

“I gave you my name.”

“Viteritti. Right. I’m sure that’s real.”

She shrugged, “Check my references.”

“What are you doing here?” He demanded suddenly. “Who sent you? Do you actually even work for Medicare or -”

“Technically, I’m a temp.”

“Of course.” He heaved a large gust of air. “Interesting choice in a second job, then. May I suggest,” he began, “Possibly trying a subtler shampoo or maybe looking into properly masking the smell of gunpowder.”

“That what did it?”

“Doesn’t help you don’t even try to mask your voice.” He stood from his seat now. She noticed how instantaneously he no longer needed to pretend to have to grope his surroundings in order to move. He damn well knew where each piece of furniture was, each direction it was turned and facing. Perched on the other side of his desk, he crossed his arms over his chest. Upon further inspection she could even tell how physically fit he was, whereas before it wasn’t as obvious under his work attire. “It’s hard to forget a proper ‘ _fuck you_ ’ thrown in your direction.”

“This is awkward.” She had to admit.

“Since the first night I’ve seen you, you’ve killed at least five people in my city. You don’t get to call this awkward.”

“Three.”

“Pardon?”

“Three people. Don’t know nothin’ ‘bout five.”

Matt had the gall to chuckle and rubbed his hand over the scruff of his chin. “Are you telling me I have another sharpshooter taking hits on the Serbs?”

“I’m telling you I don’t know about anything other than three hits on the Serbs.”

“Sit down.” He said. “We’re going to have a fun conversation.”

 

 

~

 

 

How fucking ironic was it that the one time she actually meant to see him, she couldn’t find him anywhere. What did one do when one wanted to get in touch with Frank Castle?

Look, she wasn’t entirely freaking out that Daredevil knew who she was now. He didn’t make threats, merely asked questions. That wasn’t so bad. If anything, Frank should have bothered her more, what with his incessant questions whenever he felt the need. She should have been warier over someone who stubbornly tried to figure out who she was, rather than someone who insisted on gaining information on her side job.

For whatever reason – she wasn’t.

After leaving Murdock, she aimlessly wandered around Hell’s Kitchen until her rib became too sore. Giving up, she headed downtown close to where her temporary living space was and took a rest in the Park. She sat on a bench, still in her work clothes and evened her breathing. Her fingers kneaded into the bruising on her abdomen and she pulled two Vicodin from her bag to chew on.

About a half hour had passed and she finally felt the pain begin to ease as the sun started to set. The crowd in the Park began to disperse and she figured she ought to head home. The only thing that caught her attention was the grey Pitbull that entertained itself with sticks and shrubbery, its tongue lolling out of its mouth in delight.

A shadow came to leer over her and in a relaxed haze she peered over to find the source. A smile grew slowly on her face and she nearly voiced her appreciation.

For whatever reason – his appearance felt more relieving than the drugs in her system.

Instead she said, “Boy, have I got a story to tell you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Xx


	4. Last Month

_Last Month._

 

 

They’d finally established a way of being able to reach each other if need be. Neither of them wanted to invest in an actual cellphone. She had tried getting Frank a pay-as-you-go phone and he lost it after three hours. She got him a second one and a case to keep it in. It lasted a day and a half before it was shattered under unknown circumstances. Frank was sensitive to explain how when she finally saw him five days later.

She had been standing in the Park hoping he’d be out walking Porthos again. An hour passed until she finally saw him and stretched her arms out wide. He stopped when he saw her and she could hear him curse to himself. He could be such a grump.

“What gives?” She had shouted at him.

Frank had finally come up with a solution. In fact, after spending as much time with audio transmitters as he did, he felt kind of stupid for not having thought of it earlier. He was also astonished that he was going along with this ‘keeping in touch’ bull shit in the first place. He’d nearly bit his tongue off when, at a recent rocky encounter, he got halfway through explaining they’d both be better off by being a phone call away from each other.

She reciprocated with the cellphone. He grimaced at the thought of it as she sat down across the table from him. Same booth as usual.

“How’s things?” She inquired. It barely registered in his mind as he stared at her, deep in thought. Wondering why he was allowing himself to grow attached to this woman he knew nothing about. She shrugged after realizing he wouldn’t answer and waited for the waitress.

They were having coffee together at the Greek Diner, a place they now frequented. No one who worked there asked questions about why the pair always showed up well after midnight. They didn’t bat an eye at how oddly matched they were, either.

After some comfortable silence and in a cup of coffee deep, Frank slid the device across the table.

She picked it up and raised a brow at him. “Is this what I think it is?”

“It’s a two-way radio. Can stand up to forty miles. Fifty channels but you can send direct messages so it won’t be publicly broadcasted. Untraceable. I already carry one so I don’t have to remember another piece of shit phone that’s smaller than my goddamn thumb.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, offended. She had thought it was a nice gesture. “It’s a walkie-talkie,” she said to fight back.

“It’s not a fuckin’ walkie-talkie.”

“It’s a walkie-talkie, Frank.”

He glared at her over his cup of coffee and it was more than evident that he was gnawing the inside of his cheek. She started playing with the device, turning it off and on, rapidly switching channels.

“We wouldn’t even need the thing if you’d stop being so reckless.”

“What?”

“You need to stop hanging out with Murdock. You used to have better skill with stealth than I do until you started doing runs with him.”

Scoffing loudly, she threw her hand in the air. “This is about that guy again, isn’t it?”

The table started vibrating as Frank started shaking his leg underneath. Yes, he was bringing it up again. No, he didn’t understand why it bothered him. She was not his to look after. He turned his face from her to look out the window, turning the shadow a couple shades darker from under the brim of his hat.

“You were being stupid.” He murmured.

“I was blowing off some steam after dealing with auditors and an uptight lawyer for weeks on end.”

“You were drunk, in a bar full of shitbags, alone in a shady part of town.”

“Everywhere is a shady part of town around here.” She argued. “I can take care of my-”

“Yeah?” Frank finally looked at her. “So next time I’ll let you be; see how far you can take care of yourself when some asshole decides he wants to take a piece.”

She thought better of arguing with him. She knew he was right. Letting her guard down in an unsafe place _was_ stupid. Frank never told her why he happened to be following her that night and she never asked. Though after a man tried assaulting her, punching her in an alleyway, her having been too drunk to defend herself, she was grateful for it. The stubborn side tried to be annoyed at him but after a few days she felt comforted knowing that maybe Frank was in the near distance. Keeping an eye out. No one had done that for her. Ever.

She touched the device again, unable to meet his eyes any longer. The _two-way radio_. It was the size of her whole hand with a small clip on the back.

“You gonna teach me how to use this thing, or not?”

 

 

~

 

 

He thought he was being quiet as he crept closer to her on the roof. Instead he could hear her mutter ‘ _Gotta go,_ ’ and shove something into what must’ve been her jacket.

“Working tonight?”

She shook her head, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I mean – no, not tonight.” She corrected - aloud. It was cold tonight. When he found her, she was sitting on a transformer for warmth, swinging her legs back and forth. Her fingers now tucked in between her legs to shield from the chill.

“But I’m interrupting.”

She eyed Daredevil warily. From what she could understand, he could always tell when someone was lying; there was really no point in her doing so. Didn’t mean she had to tell the truth, though.

“Can I help you with something?” she asked instead.

“Yes, actually.” He took his mask off as he approached her, his eyes landing somewhere around her chin. “Drug bust on 45th. I’ll call it in but too much gun power. Could use an extra pair of hands.”

“I’m honored.” Matt had made a quick habit of asking her for help since after they met. The first couple times was because of her intel on the Serbs but now and then it was turning into helping him with other things. Drug busts, gangbangers. It may have seemed a compliment to anyone else, but to her, her lack of trust in him was growing more and more. Not that she trusted him much to begin with.

Reckless, Frank had said. There had to be an ulterior motive.

Daredevil was why she ended up in that bar in the first place. He’d completely fucked over her assignment. Ended up having the hit arrested before she could take him out. Her employer was not happy and there’d be no cash. So she went to the bar, got shitfaced, got punched.

“What is it you really want?”

Expecting his usual sass, she was surprised by his answer. “I’m trying to show you there’s other ways to use your skills without killing.”

“That all?” His brows furrowed and she sighed. Her hand adjusted the device inside her jacket; it was right next to the pistol tucked in its holster. She hopped off the transformer after making sure the clip was fastened and slid on her gloves.

“Enlighten me, then.”

 

 

Barely an hour passed and she found herself fighting off two thugs, blocking their exit from the two-floor dumpster they considered a house. Daredevil was one floor up with six others. She disarmed one, breaking his wrist in the process. The other grabbed her from behind, attempting to pick her up off her feet.

She brought all her body weight towards the ground and kicked off when he hoisted again. Her legs grappled, finding their way around the oppositions neck, ankles locked behind his head.

Suspended in air by the two, her right fist clenched tighter around her brass knuckles and she punched the man wrapped around her upper body until he couldn’t stand any longer. They both tipped backwards, she on top of him, while the man in between her legs landed on them both.

Her thighs seized the opportunity and tightened around his throat, squeezing as hard as she could. His fists blindly punched at her quads but she didn’t let up, even after she heard him wheezing.

The man underneath her pulled out a blade. Her legs didn’t waver as she grabbed his wrist, arched her back, and sunk the blade into his abdomen.

Gunshots rang loudly on the floor above and her attention diverted as the man grew limp against her groin. The bottom had stilled so she rolled herself over onto her knees before getting up and heading for the stairs.

She found Daredevil fighting three men, now. They surrounded him but he held his own, punching and kicking till their resolve began to slow.

A fourth rose from across the room, gun raised, and she quickly got in his way, grabbing him by the elbow and shoving upward as he pulled the trigger. Dust fell from the ceiling and she wrapped her other hand around his wrist, pulling in the opposite direction until the bone snapped.

The gun fell to the ground and she snagged it. Thumb pulled the hammer and she aimed.

“Don’t.” Daredevil snapped. Three men down for the count, evidently.

She sneered at the man in front of her before pushing the hammer back. The gun was lowered just as she delivered a spinning hook kick. The bottom of her heel connected with his face and his skull connected with the floor before she had even righted herself again.

The only sounds now were both her and Daredevil’s panting. They looked at each other and he grinned.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

She rolled her eyes and adjusted her jacket. The back of her hand swiped across her nose; minimal blood from the single punch she took.

“Honestly? A little pointless when you could’ve just thrown a grenade in the place and called it a-”

They both turned quiet. Footsteps came running down the hall and just as her eyes were able to identify an M60, Daredevil’s arms were around her, heaving their bodies through a window. Bullets flew at them in shocking succession.

The window receded from her vision as they fell towards the ground. With a flick of his wrist, his billy club straightened and they were jerked upright just before landing.

She grunted and removed herself from his arms. Shards of glass fell from their outfits and littered the ground. “Nah, scratch that, that was fucking _stupid_ ,” she remarked, shaking the glass from her hair.

Daredevil raised his hand to shush her as the machine gun was silenced. They both took cautious steps back – to increase distance from the window but also get a better vantage point.

An outline appeared in the window frame and after a few seconds of squinting her eyes, she recognized him. She cursed and her hand slid under her jacket for her pistol. Raising the gun, she took aim and nearly fired before Daredevil’s club hit her hand and knocked it out of her fist. It was too hard to find it in a dark alley and by the time she did, the man was gone.

Her mouth agape, she holstered her gun and put her hands on Daredevil’s chest, giving him a hard shove. “Do you have any idea who that was?” She demanded. Without waiting for an answer she continued. “That was _Ranko Zorik_ , from the fucking _mob_!”

Police sirens sounded in the distance. Approaching.

“So? He doesn’t know who you are.”

“So? _So?_ ” She gave him another shove and he put his hands up in defense. “He’s seen my face – he knows what I look like now! How many women do you think go around taking hits -” a shove, “on the fucking -” another one, “ _mob_?! Everyone knows it wasn’t you – now they’re going to assume it’s me.”

She took a shaky step back from him, running her hands over her face.

“Listen, there’s no way they’re going to find out, there’s no connection to -”

“You tellin’ me it’s a coincidence that members of the Serbian mafia just _happened_ to be in that shithole?” Her hand gestured toward the house before slapping her thigh when Daredevil gave no answer and she smirked, shaking her head. “Didn’t think so.”

How could she have been so _stupid_? Never in her life had any of her marks seen her face. That was how she kept getting work. If her employers ever found out – “Frank was right – you make me reckless.” She turned away from him and attempted to storm off, wanting to get as far away from him as possible, but he grabbed her arm to stop her.

“ _Frank_. Who’s Frank?” 

“Stay away from me!” She shouted, shaking her arm loose from his grip. He did so reluctantly and seemed tempted to follow as she stepped back from him, turning around to leave him. “You’re gonna get me killed.”

As she put distance between them, there was nothing more she wanted to do then to try and reach Frank. She hadn’t even realized the slip of the tongue she made, she’d been so angry. Part of her wanted to rationalize that Matt wouldn’t know who she meant, but she knew better than to believe it. No, she couldn’t reach him. He was already frustrated with her and what she’d just done was inexcusable.

Paranoid, she refused to walk home. She’d gotten about twelve blocks from where Matt’s drug bust was when her anger started to cool off. But she still couldn’t go home. The possibility of her being followed wasn’t worth a good night’s sleep in her bed.

Ulterior motive? She’d certainly found it. Too bad it took her being a fucking idiot to figure it out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again - thanks for the read! Xx
> 
> The next chapt is a short one so it'll be up in the next few days.


	5. Two Days Ago

_Two days ago_.

 

 

 

 

The last time she was conscious, the sunlight had been growing brighter by the minute as it began to rise. Now, nothing but darkness was showing through the tiny window in the basement.

It was gunshots that made her stir. Save from the questionings she received and her own screams as they demanded more answers - there was silence. Certainly not gunshots.

In a haze, she managed to lift her head enough to look at the two men that’d been charming enough to keep her company. One of her eyes wouldn’t open at all. The other only halfway. Tearing up as it strained.

Another gunshot echoed through the building, and the two men rose from their chairs.

Her handcuff clinked as she tried to move. Tried to rearrange her position to listen to the sounds coming from behind the basement door; just a creaky flight of stairs away.

The floor was coated in at least an inch of dirt, or mud depending on where you were standing. Black pants that she wore were now matted in it, as well as her knees where the poly had ripped.

Blood covered her in streaks from head to toe. Mixed in with the dirt. Drying into scabs around her skull and arms while other parts still leaked.

The men both looked to her at the sound of her restraint adjusting. One leaned over to hit her in the face. “Don’t move.”

She didn’t think she could, in any event. For whatever reason, her legs were less than functional. Her shoulder was on fire. The length of her body was layered in lacerations. Her lack of ability to breathe through her nose was a sign it was broken. And then there were her eyes.

For the duration of what assumedly had been at least a day, one of her wrists had been cuffed to the wall in the corner. Her legs splayed out in front of her. After taking the hit she slumped. The cuffed wrist bent at an awkward angle as her body was dead weight, hanging from it. 

Two more shots sounded followed closely by two loud thuds on the ground above them. Speaking in Serbian, one man muttered to the other, and the latter went up the old staircase to find the source.

The door opened and closed and there were three more shots, what sounded like a small explosion, and then shouts as it sounded like an automatic weapon took fire and a fight broke out. It was then that the only man left with her took out his gun, ready to fire. She knew they must’ve been ambushed. She had no idea how many goons were up there, and if it were the cops or anyone else she couldn’t tell. But if Daredevil was up there…

With the last bit of energy she had, she let out the loudest scream her lungs could muster. The chain of her cuff strained against the wall as her chest rose with the sound.

The man hit her with the butt of his gun before her breath could run out. Falling silent – she was unconscious again.

 

 

~

 

 

“Tell me how she is.”

The Punisher towered over Daredevil as he inspected her injuries. There were so many wounds it was hard for even him to figure out where the blood was flowing from. He started ticking off from what was easiest to identify. The Punisher stood guard.

“Dislocated shoulder. Three broken ribs. I can’t tell how deep these cuts are but her heartbeat is steady…albeit slow.” His hands moved to her head, fingers inspecting. “Brow ridge is shattered. Nose is broken and some swelling on the throat, it’s constricting her breathing.”

The Punisher scoffed to no one in general, getting impatient.

“The police are coming.” Daredevil said, attention diverting.

“We have to get her out of here.”

“Frank – she needs to be in a hospital.”

“No.” He replied, gruffly.  

“Fine, she can stay with me. I can get some help if -”

Frank turned around to look at him, lowering his rifle and slinging it over his shoulder. “She comes with me.”

Matt seemed reluctant, assuming she wouldn’t receive the care she desperately needed. “Her legs have atrophied, Frank.” As if that was all that needed to be said to convince him. Frank didn’t seem to pay any mind. Instead he rifled through a set of keys from his pocket, having pulled them from the corpse upstairs.

“You think about why.” His voice was accusatory and Matt couldn’t argue. After trying a few separate keys, Frank got her cuff unlocked and she was freed from the wall. He gathered her in his arms as best he could, but even unconscious, a whimper escaped.

“Careful.” He was scolded.

Frank glared. “Shut up and lead the way.”

Once outside, Frank gave no indication for further discussion as he headed down the alley.

“Where are you taking her?”

“None of your goddamn business.” The longer Frank stayed in Daredevil's presence, the more likely he was to drop the woman and give him the beating he well deserved.

“It is my business. I got her in this mess, she’s my responsibility-”

“Jesus Christ-” Frank stopped, turned around, adjusting the body in his arms. “Would you drop the martyr act for a single goddamn minute? Look what good it did you – look what good it did _her_.”

“The killer. The hitman who came to my city to make her pay day.”

“Ah, there you go again, thinking you’re so much better.” Even he could hear the sirens now. Time to go. “You ever wonder what happens to families when you’ve put their relatives in the hospital? When they spend every dime they have paying for the medical bills, for life support, for broken backs…” He turned his back on Daredevil and receded into darkness. “Probably don’t look much better from their perspective.”

Daredevil said nothing. Screeching brakes sounded from the opposite side of the alleyway, sirens blaring.

“See you around, Red.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~Writing Frank is so fucking hard sometimes~~
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> hope this wasn't agonizing but alas it was a short chapter XD Looking forward to posting the next one.
> 
> Thanks for the read Xx.


	6. Present

_Present_.

 

 

This time around it was a shower running that woke her up, not gunshots. Half of one eye was still the only thing that could open, and it strained to do so. Her body was heavy with pain. A consistent dull throbbing everywhere that quickly turned sharp if she attempted to move.

Half an eye’s sight inspected her surroundings. Groggy wasn’t even close to the word that described what she felt, but she had no idea where she was nonetheless.

She moaned as she went to shift and, deciding against it, stayed still, realizing she was on a mattress. A sudden whine sounded in the room and the small amount of vision she had was filled by the sight of a grey Pitbull. Porthos.

The wave of relief she felt was so strong, it gave the illusion of easing her pain. She could’ve cried.

Trying to move again was a mistake; she winced and her voice choked out in a high pitched groan. Porthos whined some more and stepped closer to her, propping his chin on the mattress. His tongue rolled out of his mouth. Hot breath fanned her face.

Footsteps echoed on hardwood. A large hand rested on the dog’s head and gave him a gentle nudge.

“Good boy,” Frank muttered at Porthos.

Her limited vision was now filled with Frank’s face. His lip was cut, a purple bruise shown on his cheekbone, a ripe welt on his forehead, but other than that he seemed unscathed. His grey t-shirt clung to his torso and she gave his navy sweatpants more than a second’s consideration. If she had the strength to express her happiness at seeing him, she would have.

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

She coughed in response.

Frank grunted and his hand moved to her back. She couldn’t tell what he was touching but whatever it was made her skin burn. What he was doing was checking her bandages. He could clean and stitch well enough but she was covered in filth and he figured her wounds would get infected regardless of how good a job he did. One by one he removed gauze after gauze, inspecting his work.

“You with it this time?”

She’d been zoning out, watching his face. Her tongue ran over her cracked lips before she spoke. “This time?”

He looked at her and gave a nod. “Woke you up ten hours ago.” She could tell he was reluctant to say the next part. “Figured you’d need to go to the bathroom.” _God dammit_ , she cursed herself as he continued. “Tried to take a swing at me. Your legs wouldn’t work. Neither did your arm till I relocated your shoulder. Made for an impressive swing.”

Her retort came out in another cough, but she did notice the corner of his mouth turning upward. Just the slightest.

“Where am I?”

“My place.” He finished tampering with her bandages and he looked at her face again. “I’d like to give you a shower,” he finally said, and she’d realized it had been running this whole time. Her eye clenched shut as her stomach dropped. She was already embarrassed; beaten, bruised. He’d already told her she was being reckless and now look at her. In his apartment – or whatever – bedridden.

“Look… if it helps, you wouldn’t be the first person I assisted in the sh-” he stopped himself, realizing he was probably making it worse. His hand wiped across his face, eyes diverting. “Over there, see.” She couldn’t, as he didn’t elaborate. But he continued. “I cleaned you up best I could. But you’ve been in the same dirty clothes. Got blood and dirt in your hair. ‘Least two days now. I’d like to change the sheets. And frankly, you’re starting to smell.”

She tried to laugh but the sound wasn’t right. She opened her eye again and surveyed him. There was no one on the planet she’d ever been that intimate with. To bathe her. Hell, if her own mother did that for her as a child she didn’t remember. Frank stared at her, waiting for some sort of response. For permission. And his eyes seemed so sincere. She heaved a sigh, grateful, at least, that he asked while she was half asleep and couldn’t think things through properly.

“Can you turn over for me? I’ll do the rest.” He suggested.

Her heart fluttered in her chest. This was Frank Castle. This was the Punisher. Took her about half a month to start eyeing him the way adults eyed each other, but this was a whole different type of predicament. He wanted to give her a shower.

Before she could overthink it, she put all the strength she could muster onto one hand and shouted out as she pushed, rolling onto her back. “That’s it.” He murmured. She looked away from him as he inspected her front side. For the bandaging he must have taken off her shirt for her top half was scantily clad in her sports bra. She still had her black pants on, though. Torn as they were.

He removed whatever gauze covered her abdomen and before she knew it, one arm was underneath her knees while the other was under the small of her back. He hoisted her up without struggle.

The bathroom was already foggy with steam from the shower. Frank sat her down on the toilet, then handed her a plastic cup of blue liquid. Mouthwash. Her mouth was thankful for it was sticky, grimy, and tasted like mud. She kicked it back, swished it around for half a minute and spat it back into the cup, giving it back to Frank. He disposed of it in the sink and moved to the shower. Slid the glass door open to test the temperature with his hand. She still couldn’t come to terms with what was about to happen. She liked to think her body was decent looking, she kept in shape well enough. He wouldn’t have been the first man to see her naked, but lying in bed with someone was different than being bathed by someone.

She would’ve laughed at herself if she had the energy for it; her body was broken and instead she was worrying about her looks. How aesthetically pleasing she could’ve been for the Punisher, when he probably didn’t give a fuck.

All thought went out the window when Frank came back to view and crouched in front of her. His lack of clothing was startling enough to snap her out of whatever body-image haze she had been in. He was in nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs. She hadn’t even realized he’d gotten undressed.

She cursed herself again, this time for not having the proper eyesight to take him in. His muscles appeared sculpted in cement. Scars littered his body, a wide variation in shape, size and color. Few bruises colored his biceps and chest, some newer looking than others. But every piece of him fit right, each part curving into the next with beautiful precision. If he noticed her stare, he didn’t mention it, and she probably wouldn’t have cared if he did.

They were eye level with his position like this, and he watched her warily. Slowly she realized this was when she had to take her clothes off.

Frank’s eyes were on her face the whole time, waiting for any small sign that he should stop. Awkwardly, she tried to put her hands on the fastening of her pants. Her shoulder screamed in protest and she winced, holding back. She quietly muttered an apology but Frank was patient with her. When her second attempt failed, his hands took over.

The sound of the water running from the shower became deafening as his fingers deftly pulled open her pants. She had to look away again when he leaned in between her legs to support her as he started to slide them down her thighs. The top of his head was pressed between her arm and the side of her breast, his hair tickled her skin. His right shoulder braced her torso. Gently and slowly he pulled on the hem. They were inches above her knees when he must’ve decided he should pull down her underwear at the same time.

She didn’t dare watch while he did this. Her teeth gnawed on her bottom lip, head tilted up towards the ceiling. Her hips adjusted, struggling to raise herself from the toilet cover so he could get her underwear down.

When she heard him toss the items aside she looked down again. She appreciated that he still came to look at her face, as much as it turned her stomach and made her heart flutter.

Frank moved to her side to help lift her arms. He held both her wrists gently in his left hand to still her shaking. His right went for the hem of her bra, his fingers working underneath it to slowly tug around until he was able to work it over her head.

Once he set her arms back down, her initial reaction was to cover up. Injuries kept her from doing so, and they’d already gotten this far. The worst part was over, she tried to convince herself.

“Hey,” his voice rumbled, bringing her back to earth. “I got you, okay?”

The nod she gave convinced neither of them.

Frank picked her up again and carried her into the shower. Back facing the faucet, he gingerly set her down on her feet. Her legs wobbled uneasily – still not much function there. His arms stayed locked around her waist, easing her in.

“Put your arms around me; put all your weight on me.”

Arms groaning in protest, she drew her hands over his shoulders and clasped her fingers behind his neck, leaning into him. The hot water ran down her forearms and she closed her eye.

“Too hot?”

“F-fine. It’s fine.” She stammered.

He backed them further into the shower, the water cascaded over his shoulders and down their chests, soaked his hair and trickled down her back. She heaved a deep sigh and adjusted against him, her head came to rest at the crook of his neck for a moment, trying to relax as the heat soothed her body.

She wasn’t sure how much time had passed until he moved again. He was reaching behind her to the rack hanging from the shower door. Then she was whispering ‘ _ow, ow, ow_ ,’ as he ran a lathered wash cloth over her back. She hadn’t had a chance to inspect what cuts were on her body like Frank had, but from the stinging she could tell there were lots. Then the water became murky with blood and dirt. There weren’t many coherent memories from her interrogations but she remembered a man with the knife. The thought of him made her tense.

Frank moved like a doctor resetting bones of a terrified patient. He was treating her as gently as possible, but his movements were quick and blunt, not wanting to drag this out longer than it had to be. It must’ve been easier for him to care for her while she was out cold.

Her upper body took no time to clean at all. He took a knee as he moved downward with the washcloth. Hot water splashed off his back. One arm stayed tight around her waist and her fingers dug into his shoulders, afraid she might tip over.

Scabs littered her knee caps and the soap stung, but it felt good in a way. His hand moved up her thighs, one leg at a time, then over her hip and down her backside. Her whole body trembled. It could have seemed to be from lack of balance, struggling to trust in Frank’s arm to keep her upright. Really, it was because of the hand washing the insides of her legs. She only let herself look at him for a second, crouched again. She could only see the top of his head, not his face, and she couldn’t help but feel… as turned on as one could be, given the circumstances.

He was suddenly standing upright again. His hands gripped her waist and a whimper escaped her lips. She permitted herself to look at him and froze in place. She’d never been this close to Frank before, never seen his face so unguarded. Water trailed down his unshaven cheeks and dripped off his chin. His eyelashes were damp, and she never quite realized how long they were. Her reveling was cut short when he started washing her face. He’d squeeze the washcloth above her skin, not wanting to rub at her bruising. Her broken brow ridge was starting to turn royal purple over her closed, swollen eye.

His hand fell to the small of her back, nudging her closer to him so as to rinse her face off under the faucet.

Her arms tightened around his neck as one of his arms left her. He set the washcloth down and picked up shampoo, dousing her head with a dollop of it. Nostrils filled with his scent while his fingers worked it into her hair – another thing she’d never been close enough to him to experience. Or she had and it just became a Frank smell, subtly over time. And to think Daredevil remarked on _her_ shampoo prior to this. He’d clearly not gotten a good enough whiff of Frank.

The massage over her scalp was surprisingly soothing - he had to have done this before. Her lips parted again, letting out a controlled sigh. The incessant shaking was beginning to calm in her limbs. With one arm, Frank lifted her to the tips of her toes to turn them around and rinsed the shampoo. He started the same routine with conditioner.

Once the water was cut off, the cold hit her like a sharp blade. The grip she had on Frank loosened as her elbows moved to shield her chest, the quick movement jarring her pain back in gear. Frank’s arms secured around her, thinking her legs would give out. When he was sure they wouldn’t, he pulled the shower door open, reached for a towel and draped it around her. His hands took turns patting her down before picking her up, stepping them out of the shower, and set her back down on the toilet.

Teeth clattered as she gathered the towel under her armpits. Frank returned with a bathrobe, forest green in color, and assisted her arms into the sleeves.

He left her there, muttering something about the sheets and she had time to compose herself… Or so she'd hoped. She was relieved to be out of the shower but with her hands splayed on her knees she took notice of the bruised and bloody knuckles, signs of self defense. Flashes of her interrogation came to the forefront of her mind, as incoherent as they were, cueing what must’ve been a delayed reaction to stress. As her eye glazed over her hands, her fingers started to shake again. She gripped the cotton material of the robe between them but then her vision became blurry with tears, her nose congested to the point of having to breathe through her mouth. Her steady heartbeat rapidly became brisk. A loud gasp echoed in the bathroom as it soon became hard to breathe.

Frank was back in the room and immediately took notice. He crouched in front of her again and pried her fingers from the robe, instead holding onto her hands with his own.

He shushed her and said, “Look at me.” She did so, albeit with one eye. Her gasps came in quick succession and she blinked over and over, trying to rid away with the tears that threatened to fall. “Don’t,” he said, “Don’t do this. You can take this.”

His words would have been completely inappropriate to the normal specimen. She, however, found them comforting. She gripped his hands even tighter and he shook his head. She nodded in return. The gasping slowly turned into even breathing. The tears dried up. Eventually, all that was left was the congestion.

Picking her up one more time, he brought her back to his bedroom, laying her out on his bed. She tied the belt of his robe around her and pulled out the towel from underneath, handing it back to him. She didn’t want to get his bed wet. He changed the sheets, after all. He left the room to get dressed – jeans and a black t-shirt.

“Stay put,” he said dryly. 

About fifteen minutes had passed until he returned with an omelette and a glass of water. With the bruised arms it was a struggle to eat, although she was starving. The soreness had returned to her body. It took much longer to take down than it did for him to cook. Meanwhile, Frank sat in the chair next to the bed, watching her the whole time, as if expecting her to be stubborn enough not to eat every bite. When she was finished, he took the empty plate from her and handed her two pills.

“What’s this?” She asked.

“Aspirin.” He replied sardonically. She briefly inspected the pills before swallowing them. They were definitely not aspirin.

It had gotten dark out when he helped her out of his bathrobe and into some clothes. The morphine had kicked in, inducing a much calmer state of mind, and she didn’t much care about her nakedness this time around. He’d had to lend her his own clothes. He gave her a pair of shorts that fell to well below her knees, and one of his thermals that he’d had to roll the sleeves up for. She was completely commando underneath but he didn’t mind. He was satisfied enough to see her void of old, dried up blood and dirt.

He refilled her glass of water and tucked her into his bed, ready to spend another night on the couch. His usual night walk with Porthos would have to be postponed, but he would be fine for the next few hours.

He was just about done cleaning up after her and turning the lights out when she called out to him from the bed. He leaned against the doorjamb, cocking his head at her. She looked small, in the fetal position under his blankets. Too much time and isolation had passed for Frank for him to be able to identify the feeling in the pit of his stomach, but it gave him uncertainty.

“Yeah?”

There was a lack of reluctance, thanks to the pills. “Would you lay with me? Till I fall asleep at least?”

Frank stared at her. She still had the ability to make him pause, like few people had, and not for nearly the same reasons. It was probably a bad idea. She was vulnerable. And for a second, he had to reprioritize that it was due to the twenty-four-plus hours’ worth of torture, and not because of the shower he gave her. Shit, he had to admit he was glad to be busied with doing the washing, it’d been so painstakingly intimate.

Her voice croaked, pulling him out of his mind. “I like you, Frank, but goddamn, you think so loud.”

He grunted but the corner of his lip raised despite himself. This was definitely a bad idea. He pushed himself from the jamb anyway, and moved for the bed to lay down next to her, back tense and straight against the mattress.

It’d been several years since he’d shared a bed. Of course, she didn’t think in those terms - she was currently high as hell. But still, she tried not to overcrowd. Instead, her hands merely clasped around his bicep, pulling his arm closer to her chest.

Frank may have heard a small thank you but her voice was so quiet. He didn’t move for a long while, even after she fell asleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pheww finally got this one out
> 
> Guys, thanks for the kudos/bookmarks/comments, they are all super appreciated and give me incentive to keep posting
> 
>  
> 
> ~~even though this was developed for my own selfish Frank Castle needs~~
> 
>  
> 
> Seriously though. I love it. Keep it coming. Hope you enjoyed this one. Xx.


	7. Laying Low

“I gotta go home, Frank.”

“No.”

“Well then I gotta go home to get some things.”

“No.”

“I need some of my own clothes. Even though yours are pretty comfy. And you smell nice.”

“…No.”

“Fine. Then you have to go shopping for me. I at least need some underwear.”

If she was starting to read his mannerisms right, his shoulders tensed in irritation as he hunched over the stove cooking lunch.

“I’ll go to your place. Get you some clothes.”

“But _Frank_ …”

He groaned and turned around to look at her. “Walking back in there is a goddamn death trap. They’ll be waiting for you to go back.”

She sulked on the barstool, unprepared to argue. If she was back to being one hundred percent, then perhaps she would have. But her ribs were nowhere close to being unbroken, the shoulder Frank had relocated was still causing stiffness in her good arm, and her legs only became fully functional a couple days prior.

Her hideout at Casa de Frank had certainly been interesting.

For one, Frank Castle could fucking cook. She wasn’t picky when it came to food; during a particularly depressing time, she had lived off Ramen and hot dogs. Frank-dinner-number-one consisted of teriyaki salmon with stir fry veggies. Teriyaki sauce from scratch. It practically took the same amount of time to scarf it down as it did to thank him for it. It’d been around a week that she had been laying low in his apartment and she was quickly getting used to his surprising level of hospitality.

Then there was his apartment itself. If she didn’t move around so much, she’d try to convince him to trade. The outer walls were entirely made of brick; the floors were hardwood, save for the bathroom that was tiled. With all its potential it made her cringe that Frank had no care for decoration whatsoever. Crates littered the living room – filled with all sorts of ammunition and audio transmitters (that he continually left on at a high volume, much to her protest), dog food and other gadgets she didn’t care to rifle through – she could only imagine what his stash of firearms at a separate undisclosed location looked like. There was one television that was probably a decade old. Blueprints and maps covered any visible surface area of the coffee table.

The kitchen and his bedroom were the neatest areas. His kitchen was neatly organized with a variety of pans and utensils, a lightwood island stood in the middle, separating it from the living room. His bedroom was always tidy, clothes hanging in the closet, and if she was up and out of it long enough, the bed was always made. Domesticated Frank was something she never really put much thought into – until she found a new toothbrush on the rim of the sink next to his, waiting for her one afternoon.

Her whole sleep schedule was messed up thanks to the lack of activity and the morphine he kept supplying to her the first few days she was there. Frank often left the apartment in the middle of the night, well after she had fallen asleep, and would return around lunchtime with a raging appetite. She was even beginning to time it well enough to have his coffee waiting for him by the time he walked through the door.

They were still sleeping with each other. Well, Frank didn’t sleep much. Whether it was the military training or too many things on his mind or something else altogether, she didn’t know. But she always fell asleep before him and he was always gone before she woke up. Their first night together was the only exception. She had woken up crying and sobbing, and in her tiredness couldn’t tell if it was because of the physical pain she was in, or the nightmare she’d been having.

Half asleep, Frank had thrown a muscular arm around her, careful to avoid her ribs. He pulled her against his chest and shushed her and she listened. The sound of his heavy breathing as he fell back asleep calmed her down. They hadn’t talked about it since, but every night she asked him to lay with her and he was patient enough to oblige. The memories of nightmares that kept her tossing during the night were short-lived thanks to his presence.

“Anyway,” he continued, “Snow’s not gonna let up for a while.”

He was right about that, at least. It started snowing hours ago, accumulation starting shortly after that. “N’get off the barstool.” He added, turning back around to turn the burners off. “Your ribs’ll never heal at this rate.” He pulled out a plate and put a slab of balsamic grilled chicken on it.

She slid off the stool, wincing. Evidently, he was right about that, too.

“When’d you ice last?”

Glancing at the clock, “Three hours ago.”

Frank was in one of those grumpy moods again; he must’ve had a busy night – something she didn’t ask about, respecting his privacy. She could hear him muttering curses to himself from across the kitchen. He went to the freezer and pulled out one of the gallon bags of ice that was on continual rotation for her usage. He gestured for her to come to him and she heaved a sigh as she did so, lifting her shirt in the process.

“Ten minutes,” he lectured, “Every hour.”

She jumped when the pack touched her skin, which was still colored purple. Her other bruises hadn’t faded quite yet either. Her broken nose gave her black eyes, which would have been bruised anyway, though they at least opened properly now. Her brow ridge was still larger than its normal size. There was more bruised skin than not on her body, all in variations of color.

One hand on the pack, Frank held it in place while he pulled her shirt back down. He handed her the plate of chicken – to her shock there was nothing else.

She must’ve made a face because – “I need to go to the store,” he said defensively. She narrowed her eyes at him but decided to let it slide and moseyed over to the couch. Porthos sat in front of it and sniffed at her as she sat down. She tossed him a piece of the chicken.

“You goin’ out tonight?” She asked, leaning back against the armrest.

There was some clanging around in the kitchen. “Not in this weather.”

She smiled despite herself. Even the Punisher took some time off. “Wanna get some whiskey?”

There was silence that followed as she bit into her chicken. She peered curiously over the couch at Frank. He stood staring at her. Looking reluctant. His stares were starting to get under her skin, started to make her blush every time he did it. “C’mon, Frank, I’m going stir crazy and it’s only gonna get worse with all that shit out there.”

“That’s not-” he started but cut himself off, pressing his lips together. Her brow cocked but he busied himself with the kitchen. By the time she finished eating, he was putting on a heavy jacket, hat and gloves. He reached over the couch to take her plate and the ice pack. “ _Porthos_.”

Porthos immediately went for the door and waited for Frank to exit. Frank didn’t say anything as he opened the door, let Porthos out ahead of him, and shut it behind them.

 

 

 

Frank didn’t come back for another few hours. In the meantime, she iced her ribs for two more intervals, tuned his radio to a classic rock station and took a shower. She hadn’t needed his help to shower anymore, but he did help with her hair. With the broken ribs it was hard to hold her arms up for long periods of time. Long period being no more than a minute and a half. Her hair was curly and thick, fell way past her shoulders and needed longer than that in order to comb out.

Historically she didn’t like feeling so helpless. But with Frank… Well, she wasn’t sure what it was with Frank. He wasn’t the type of man to hold friends, so she didn’t try to tell herself she was one. But they were _something_ to each other and evidently, neither of them were going to discuss it. Hell, he’d seen her naked more times in the past week than a single person she’d known ever had.

She turned the water off and stepped out. Her ribs were sore as hell so she opted against combing out her hair this time around. Her fingers traced over the stiches in her abdomen and back. Her eyes raked over her bruises in the mirror. Winced as she gave her nose an experimental poke.

One thing she did know was that she trusted Frank with everything.

He and Porthos returned while she was in the shower, she jumped as Porthos came crashing through the door.

“ _Monster face_ …” she made a habit of calling him in baby voice. She closed a towel around her waist with one hand as the other mushed his jowls. 

She had a set of Frank’s clothes sitting on the toilet. His shorts were the only pants of his that she could wear, anything else dragged on the floor. His long sleeved thermals were her favorite. She put on one of his whites and pulled on the shorts.

“ _Fuck yes, Frank_ ,” she moaned, leaving the bathroom. A bottle of Jameson was out on the table.

 

~

 

“Tell me your name.”

He was sitting on the floor, tuning the radio for a different station. It was around nine at night, there was over a foot of snow outside with more falling from the sky and they were both two glasses of whiskey in. Frank had made her ice two more times, eat another small meal, and practice a breathing exercise before she was allowed to open the bottle.

She surveyed him from her seat by the window; she liked watching the snow fall through his fire escape. His overly large back was facing her.

“Myah Viteritti.”

He stopped tuning to look at her over his shoulder. “Myah? Your favorite name you joked about?”

“That’d be the one,” she concurred, taking a sip of her drink.

“You always joke about real shit?” He asked, turning back around.  He wondered what else there was that she’d told him in the past, meant as a joke but turned out to be serious.

“It’s a coping mechanism.” She replied dryly.

Frank settled on a station, definitely seventies music from what she could tell so far. He got up and moved for the couch, taking a seat so he could look at her. She didn’t think he was relaxed; she didn’t think Frank Castle was capable of relaxing. But his state now was as close to the definition of relaxed as possible. He’d been wet from his venture to the store and changed into grey sweats after returning. There was something about the man in sweats that she simply reveled in. The baggy cotton dangled from his perky muscles in all the right places.

He poured himself a fresh drink and kicked his feet on the coffee table, crossing them at the ankles. Porthos clambered onto the couch next to him and Frank obediently rubbed his head. “What else?”

“What else, what?”

“Let’s not,” he drawled, cocking his head to the side, “I think I earned the right to some information. So talk.”

She didn’t know where to start, so she got up from her chair to refill her glass.

“When’d you learn to shoot like that?” He continued. Whiskey made him talk, she noted duly. “How old are you?”

“I’m twenty-nine,” she answered. From the moment they met he referenced her age in conversation. She wondered what he thought about it now. “My dad taught me how to shoot when I was twelve. He was in the mafia. I was raised around all that, always wanted to learn.”

“N’the hits?”

Myah sighed and gulped down the whiskey. Filled her glass again. “It didn’t start out like that – I mean – in a way, yeah. It wasn’t exactly my 'trade' until I was nineteen.”

Frank’s gesture said he wanted her to elaborate.

“Sometime after I learned to shoot, mom got sick. Colon cancer. We didn’t have much money even though dad worked for the mob. He wasn’t really a top dog. He was really more of a dealer, peddling heroin for them. Didn’t find that out for a while, though.” A nice buzz was settling in her and she found it easier to prat on, even though she didn’t necessarily want to. She’d come to terms with her past a long time ago and was detached from it now.

“We didn’t have the funds to pay for my mom’s meds. He convinced me that if I helped him with the business, we’d be able to. Dad couldn’t shoot for shit. He was a drunk. Was using heroin more than he sold it. He told me I had to shoot them. Shoot them, and we’d get the money to pay for the meds. Pay for an aide to come in and bathe my mom, feed her, when she got real bad.

“I was desensitized, I think. I’d seen men killed in front of me before I killed them myself. ‘Family’ meetings. All that. I’d killed eight men by the time I was fifteen.”

Frank was listening intently, only breaking his attention once to help himself to more whiskey.

“Such sloppy jobs. Most of ‘em were in an alleyway, just another drunk, caught off guard.” She couldn’t help but laugh at herself, thinking of how different things were back then. Songs switched on the radio and she couldn’t help but notice Frank rocking his foot to the beat. “Earth Wind and Fire? Are you serious?”

“ _Shut up_ ,” he groaned, waving a hand at her. To him it felt like ages that he’d been trying to pry information out of her, figure out her story. “Keep talkin’.”

“Anyway, mom died shortly after that,” she went on, “It didn’t make sense to me... The way she declined so rapidly. I was making us money, right?” She paused as if still considering why she had been so confused, the truth right in front of her. “A few months later and dad disappeared. I was underage, so the cops wanted me in the foster system. The family took me in instead. They knew what I was doing, knew about the kills. Wanted to make me better.

“They trained me after that. How to properly use a scope, how to defend myself. How to fight. After a while they admitted to getting rid of him – my dad. He was stealing, y’know? He was skimming their drugs, gambled with their profit. He had to go.” She raised the glass to her lips, taking a wealthy drink. “He didn’t even use any of the money I got him on treatment. It all went to the tables, or to his veins. Would’ve killed him myself if he was still alive when I found out.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She stopped again, lost in thought for just a moment as her eyes skimmed over the snow once more, remembering. “It is what it is, but the fact was that he was using his kid to get him extra cash to pay for his bad habits.”

They sat quietly for a moment, the only sound being the music coming from the radio and the wind outside, blasting against the windows.

“So, you’re in the family. Part of the mob.” Frank stated. She nodded, raising her glass to him before kicking the rest of the liquid back. “They’re the ones having you take out the Serbs.”

She stood and poured both of them a drink. “That’s right.”

“Murdock know this?”

The mention of his name made her angry. “Nah, he doesn’t know shit about it. You’re the only person I’ve ever told.”

If he paid the sentiment any mind, she couldn’t tell. “So this has been your full time gig, all this time.” He mused. “You ever think about gettin’ out?”

She didn’t return to her seat. She paced around his living room, bopping her head to ‘Roxanne’ as it started to play from the stereo.

“Do you?”

“I’m not involved like that.”

“S’not what I meant,” she countered, rolling her eyes at him. “You ever think about stopping? What you do?”

“No.” He said without hesitation, and he noticed a look in her eyes as she nodded, almost like solidarity. And maybe that’s why he felt this attachment. They were both honest with each other on how they made a living, without judgement. And though their motivations weren’t exactly the same, she shared an understanding of him that was rare for him to find elsewhere.

Wandering around the table, she took a seat on it next to his propped up feet, wanting to get closer to Frank, pulling him out of his thoughts like she so often did. It was dark in his apartment; the only source of light came from over his stove. His head tilted at her again, appraising her.

“What happened to those men?” She asked.

“What men?”

Myah gestured to herself. “The ones who did this to me.”

“Dead.”

That was a relief at least. Maybe it was sick, but Myah felt happy that those pigs were disposed of properly. She swirled the liquid around in her cup and they sat there staring at each other. She liked Frank. Liked him enough where her gut was saying _stay the hell away from him_. His taking care of her the way he was only exacerbated it.

“Why did you save me?”

Frank’s brows furrowed, making him appear confused. “Wasn’t gonna just let you get killed.”

“But this – I mean,” she paused to take a breath, the liquor was making her slur now. “I mean here. Everything… everything you’ve done for me.”

His confusion turned to frustration as he struggled to find an answer. Or he knew the answer and struggled to speak it. Couldn’t make sense of it enough to put it to words and say aloud. He was every bit the monster people said he was. And here he was, nursing a stray till she got better. There was a thick cloud where he pondered on what would happen when she did.

“Well – thank you.” She said, relieving him of having to answer. Anyway, his voice stammered in his throat, caught on words. Her eyes glazed over him before she stood again, went back to pacing around his living room, swinging her arms back and forth as ‘Starman’ played.

Porthos was transfixed, groaning lowly, and stretched out his neck to rest his chin on the edge of the couch. Frank gave him another scratch behind the ears. He knew the liquor was starting to go straight to his head but with the cold winter night, a pretty young woman swaying to tunes he hadn’t brought himself to listen to in ages, Porthos curled at his side… He felt something stir in his chest, much like the roll in the pit of his stomach when he watched her lay tucked into his bed for the first time. Perturbed, he knew then that even when she did get better he wouldn’t want her to leave.

 

~

 

“You said we were having breakfast.”

“We are.”

“You forgot to mention this was gonna be a party of three.”

“You’d just get angry.”

“ _And_?” She was seething. “What the heck am I feeling now, then? Is this why you picked up some of my clothes? Knew we were going out, huh?”

Frank sighed and was grateful for the waitress’s appearance for their order. He asked for coffee for them both and Myah begrudgingly asked for sunny-side-up eggs on toast.

Matt Murdock had just entered the café he and Frank agreed to meeting at. In civilian clothes, of course. Dressed in slim jeans, a blue button down and a black pea coat, Matt used his cane to saunter over to their table and slid in across from them. It was a heavy moment of silence. Myah glared at him from her chair, looking tiny next to Frank who had the aisle seat.

“Thank you for meeting me.” Matt started.

“The faster we make this, the better,” Frank retorted. He thanked the waitress as she returned with coffee, leaving the pot and an extra mug on the table. He filled Myah’s mug before his own and growled, rolling his eyes. “Put the knife back on the table.”

She reluctantly did so.

Matt’s head was turned in her direction but he had no reaction to her vehemence. He could sense the level of her recovery. Her ribs still clicked soundly in his ears. The blood that was flush on her skin, causing bruising in several areas, left a bitter taste on his tongue. The congested force of air through her nostrils reminded him of its break.

“I wanted to apologize for what happened to you,” he tried again. Her teeth gritted in her mouth but she said nothing. “I don’t usually make the habit of defending people who-” he paused as the eggs arrived, “- do what you do. But you were right; I nearly got you killed and I’m sorry.”

His declaration hung in the air as she started eating, acting almost as if she didn’t hear him. Frank busied himself with the newspaper and his cup of coffee.

“Is that all?” She eventually asked in between forkfuls.

“Pardon?”

“Oh, please. There’s always some hidden meaning bull shit where you’re concerned. Apology accepted but that could’ve been done with a ‘get well soon’ card.” She waited for him to come clean. When he didn’t – “What do you want to know?”

Matt rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Fine. I want the name of your employers.”

Before she could answer, Frank said “No,” not even bothering to look up from the paper.

It was visible that Matt was annoyed, even behind his glasses. “Look, I preferred to have your permission before I tried speaking to her myself, but since the bodies you dropped, things are only escalating and it’s a matter of time before the people she works for get involved, too.”

Frank barely paid him any mind. His right shoulder lifted in a half shrug, eyes not leaving the paper as he turned a page, “Don’t care. You don’t get to know that.”

“I think she can speak for herself.”

“I like it better when he does it.” Myah piped in. Clearly arguing was the two men’s favorite activity to do with each other and she wasn’t going to get in the way of that.

“Let me get this straight,” Matt continued without pause, “You told him what you do, who you work for, but you won’t tell me.”

“Jealous?” She asked through a mouthful of eggs.

“You do realize who this is, what he’s capable of. You know you couldn’t trust him.”

She rolled her eyes, resisting the urge to pick the knife back up. “Of the two men here, pretty sure you’re the one who’s almost gotten me killed. Not this guy,” she gestured to Frank.

Matt lifted his hands in the air and leaned back in his seat. “I don’t understand either of you.”

“Got anything else to confess?” Frank asked, taking a sip of his coffee. “’I just need to apologize’ is what you convinced me to the other night. Not anything else.”

“Myah,” Matt said, lowering his voice. He leaned over the table, ignoring Frank. “Combined, the three of us have disassembled most of the Serbian mafia in New York. Sooner or later, your employers are going to show up to pick up the pieces, to take what they left behind. I need to know what to expect.”

Myah considered him for a moment. Part of her wanted to tell him – she’d never suffered injuries like this while on the job and the only reason she survived was because these two vigilantes saved her. She wasn’t sure she’d be so lucky next time. But giving up her employers meant she was as good as dead, anyway. She’d already come close to that this week and she still wasn’t sure that she could give that kind of information up to someone she didn’t think she could trust.

“Sorry to disappoint.”

 

 

~

 

 

Later, she found herself on the bed, flinching above the sheets.

“That tickles.”

“Stop.”

“Y’know, Frank, if you didn’t act so irritated all the time I’d say you liked me being here.”

Myah was laying, stomach down, across the foot of Frank’s bed while he took out the stitches on her back. He was honed in leaning over her, his face hardly a foot above her skin. Small scissors in one hand, plucking the threads out with his thick fingers of the other.  

“You’re a pain in my ass,” he stated, his breath fanned over her backside, giving her chills. “And you’re fattening my dog.”

A snort escaped against her will and she couldn’t help but giggle, muffling the sound with his sheet. Frank merely shook his head, held his palm down on her back until she stopped moving. Fingers lingered on her skin before continuing on to the next stitch.  She was thankful he was finally taking them out – they had become unbearably itchy in the last couple of days.

“Turn over.”

Myah obliged, resting the back of her head on her forearms. She watched him work, his fingers less ticklish now on her stomach than they’d been on the small of her back. Frank licked his thumb before pulling out another thread and she clenched her eyes shut, willing away the thoughts in her mind.

“Do you think I should have told him?” She questioned, trying to distract herself.

“I think that’s up to you.” Another thing she liked so much about Frank – he was always on the same page. She could voice whatever she was thinking without any context and they wouldn’t need to play catch up. He just knew.

“Didn’t sound like it at breakfast.”

“Didn’t sound like you wanted to come clean at breakfast,” he retorted. “You decide you want to tell him, I’ll back that up, too.”

There was an awkward pause after that. She stared at him and he stopped working on her stitches, looking angry with himself.  “I just meant -”

“I got it,” she said softly. Frank glanced at her and she caught it, his eyes dragging from hers, over her chest, back to where his hands were currently resting on her abdomen. Without another word, he moved on, tugging at the next thin row of stitches. “I just never really had – it’s not like I’ve been able to talk to someone about work.”

“How’s that goin’ for you?”

She scrunched her nose at the ceiling. “Not sure yet. It’s weird.” Peering up at him, she slowly raised an eyebrow, “You oughta try it sometime.”

“S’not my style.” Myah shrugged, of course he’d say that. “Thinkin’ ‘bout getting a new gig?”

“Frank…”

His hands bent upward at the wrists, “Hey, I’m not sayin’ shit. That’s just one hell of a beating you took.”

“You’re one to talk…” she argued, rapping a knuckle on his kneecap. “I got a good look at you. Seems like you get a nice beating on the reg.”

“I get back up. They don’t.”

Myah was about to agree, when – “Did you just insult me?”

Frank chuckled but said nothing. They spent the rest of the time in silence; Frank concentrating while Myah was lost in thought, only brought out of it when he finally gripped her elbow to help her sit up.

“The bruising’s getting better,” he offered.

 Myah’s knees crowded between his as she rolled her shirt back down. “Yeah, well, now it looks like your face is trying to compete with mine,” she retorted. Whatever escapade he’d been up to the previous night landed him a bruise on his jaw and temple. A nice royal purple on his pale skin. Without thinking twice, she raised her hand to cup his cheek, examining the bruises with her thumb.

As soon as she realized what she was doing, she froze, even more surprised when Frank didn’t pull away. If anything it felt like he was leaning into her palm. An audible gulp choked its way down her throat. She chanced a glance at his face to find he was already staring at her, eyes drifting to her mouth when she nervously pulled her bottom lip through her teeth.

She dropped her hand to grip his shoulder and leaned in, hesitating for barely a second, giving him a chance to stop her. When he didn’t, she gripped onto him even tighter, pulling herself forward to cover his lips with hers.

Neither of them moved right away, her initial thought being that his lips were softer than she’d previously imagined. A heavy sigh passed through her nose, turning into a gasp as Frank was suddenly gripping her hair at the nape of her neck. Myah half expected him to pull her away, but instead he pressed forward, kissing her harder. Her head tilted to the side, dragging her mouth over his upper lip, then his bottom.

All thought drifted from her mind, hearing nothing but quiet and their breathing as they kissed each other with open mouths.

She couldn’t help but whine and her free hand gripped his bicep; she wanted to climb in his lap, to pull his shirt off and wrap her arms around his neck. Her tongue ran over the crease of his lips, wanting access, then suddenly she was wincing as Frank’s grip on her hair turned painfully tight, stiffly tearing their mouths apart.

The whimper she made hardly registered as she found herself saying, “Shit, shit – Frank – I’m – I’m sorry,” her voice raspy while they panted in each other’s faces. She forced herself to tear her eyes open. His gaze was averted to the floor and he gently released her from his grasp. Myah wasn’t sure what she was expecting, but her stomach dropped when he ran a hand over his face and pushed his chair away from her.

Her voice caught in her throat as she tried apologizing once more, but he was already standing up, towering over her and taking a cautious step back. Elbows landed on her knees and she held her face in her hands, embarrassed now.

Frank was still catching his breath, muttering what sounded like ‘it’s okay’ before leaving the room. In her mind she was already shouting curses at herself. With a huff, she tipped backward onto the bed once she heard the front door open and close, leaving her alone in the apartment.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Xx.
> 
> I swear, next time I'll be nicer to Matt. I need to cut him some slack.


	8. Recall

In retrospect, kissing Frank probably hadn’t been the smartest move. Frank was complicated. He was angry all the time, he preferred isolation, guns and a dog over other human beings. To put lightly, he had questionable morals and a violent profession that kept him busy at all hours of the night. The past surrounding his family was the icing on the cake – not that she would ever ask him about them. She knew well enough that it wasn’t her business. In short, Frank wasn’t ‘available’.

So, yes, if she had been more rational at the time, she probably wouldn’t have done it. Too bad her feelings for him were barring more on the irrational side.

And he _had_ kissed her back.

But in the time following, Frank was acting unreasonably cold toward her. He’d spoken about six words to her after returning from being gone for the rest of that day. It was the first night she’d spent alone in his bed and she had ended up screaming herself awake because of a nightmare. It was Porthos who came to find her a sweaty mess, panting, sitting straight up in bed. He licked at her arm, coaxing her to lay back down, then burrowed into her side, keeping her company until she was calm enough to fall back asleep.

Tonight Frank was out again, on his normal routine. Myah was starting to think that he’d gotten himself wrapped up in something big; there were more bruises and bloodstains on him than usual, he was using more ammunition, he had to be digging for something.

It was then she decided to go to her own apartment. Not to stay, of course – Frank would lose his fucking mind – but she needed more clothes and money. There was a safe she had stashed there that needed to be emptied before anyone else got to it, and she couldn’t put off contacting her employers any longer. It had already been two weeks since the incident and if she kept them in the dark any longer they would come looking for her. Nobody wanted that.

Also, Frank wasn’t there to stop her. It was as good a time as she was going to get. “Fuck him, right?” She said to Porthos, who rolled over in his bed and yawned.

After making sure the dog had food and water, she took one of Frank’s sweatshirts and beanies, put her boots on and left, locking the door behind her.

 

When they met Matt at the café a few days prior, she had realized that Frank’s apartment wasn’t too far from her own, only a mere seven blocks apart. Boots crunched in the snow as she made her way to it, her brass knuckles tucked into the back of her pants just in case. The good thing about wearing Frank's sweatshirt was that it was big enough for her to disappear inside it; if someone was watching they’d probably glance over her. Besides, it was also freezing cold out.

Standing on the curb across the street, she appraised the building. It was shortly after one in the morning so there wasn’t much activity. She went with the fire escape anyway.

The dumpster was good enough leverage to pull down the ladder. To the protest of her ribs, she hopped on and climbed four flights before reaching her landing. Lights were off, no one visible from inside. The window was still unlocked so she was able to pry it open and slide inside.

Her feet landed on the floor with a soft thud. She waited, ears perked for any sound. There was a possibility anyone could’ve alarmed the place but she wasted no time looking for one.

The apartment was kept scarce; a few empty take-out containers still littered the kitchen, dirty clothes were thrown over a used, raggedy couch. The bedroom was vacant save for the bed and dresser, previously rifled through by Frank.

When she had first moved in, Myah broke down a hollow section of the bedroom wall, shoved a three-foot safe inside and plastered it back up. After the drug bust with Matt went to shit, she broke it down again, threw her backpack and burner phone inside, sealing it up once more.

She appraised the wall – neighbors were probably sleeping, kicking it down would be too loud. Crouching low to the ground, she gathered the sweatshirt sleeve up around her elbow. There was a sharp cracking sound as she drove it through the wall. Two more strikes, and she had enough leeway to pull the rest of the plaster apart with her hands.

She dragged the safe out of the wall and punched in the code. Yes, she may have trusted Frank, but the safe was her escape plan and it was downright child’s play to let anyone else get their hands on it. Besides her backpack, it contained three different passports, ten grand in cash divvied up in four different currencies, a safety deposit box key, two pistols, and her scope. She emptied the safe into her backpack and used the rest of its space to cram in extra clothes.

After slinging the rifle over her shoulder, she hopped back out of the window. So far there was no sign of intruders but when she made it to the ground, she waited in the alley, peering around the corners for any dodgy signs.

When the coast was clear she darted across the street. She put three blocks between her and the apartment, looped around the backside of another building and climbed that fire escape. She hopped from rooftop to rooftop until she was again, facing her building. A perfect, dry nook was practically waiting for her at the edge of the roof and she took a seat on the cold concrete, pulled out and assembled her scope.

The night was quiet, and she peered through the lens. Still nothing.

She kicked her feet up on the edge of the roof and pulled out her phone, turning it on. No messages – there rarely was. Dialing the number for her employers, she held the phone between her ear and shoulder as she peered through the lens again.

Voicemail recording. Beep.

“Hey, it’s May. Sure you heard about the shit on the TV. I’m good but out’a commission for a short while. Laying low for now.”

That would have to do. She hung up and pocketed the phone. Checked her scope once more and was surprised to see the glare of flashlights from inside her apartment. She adjusted the lens with her right hand and made out three figures. Couldn’t ID any of them. The apartment had been rigged, then.

It would have been more than easy to take them all out with her snipe right then and there. They didn’t do much to conceal themselves and with the ability of her lens, they might as well have turned the lights on for a bullet to make its target. Her bottom lip slipped between her teeth to chew on while she considered.

With her free hand she pulled out her phone again and started dialing the number for the local precinct – when a strong hand grabbed her by the shoulder and yanked her upright. Her rifle clattered to the ground. In an instant she clutched her brass knuckles and slid them around her fingers in the same fluid motion as throwing a punch at her assailant. Pain ripped through her abdomen and she doubled over before she could even follow through with the punch.

“Careful there,” Daredevil said. “You probably just set your ribs back another week.”

“ _Christ_ , Murdock.” Myah stayed hunched over, breath coming in tiny gasps while her fingertips rubbed her ribs through the sweatshirt, trying to ease the pain. “Next time I’m shooting your ass.”

“Keep your voice down.”

“Oh, fuck off.” The palm of her hand braced herself against the wall behind them until she was able to stand straight again. “What are you doing here?”

“Same as you. But I wasn’t planning on taking them out.”

“Neither was I,” she snarled, “I was about to call the cops when you _manhandled_ me.”

Matt smirked at her as he took off his helmet. “I was curious… heard you dial on the phone. Wanted to be sure, though.”

Myah laughed and shoved the brass knuckles back in her pants. “Well, you sure now?” He nodded and palmed the helmet against his hip. His head tilted in the direction of her apartment, listening. “They’re gone.” She didn’t much care about that anymore. She picked up her backpack and slung it over her shoulder. Checked on the rifle to make sure there was no damage before disassembling it and putting it back in its case.

“Frank know you’re out here?”

“No,” she snapped, sending him a glare. “I don’t know where he is.”

“His smell is all over you.”

“Not bad, right?” She retorted sarcastically; his teeth bared in a shit-eating grin. “Must be the sweatshirt.”

“C’mon, let’s get inside. You’re freezing and your ribs need a break.” Myah hesitated and he turned defensive. “Y’know, despite what you may think, I’m not entirely a bad guy. Just… come on. If I leave you out here to freeze to death, Frank will kill me.”

 

 

If Myah was disappointed in Frank’s lack of décor, now – standing in Matt Murdock’s apartment – she was downright appalled. Matt was blind. He was blind – he had no sight. And yet his apartment had more impeccable interior design than Frank’s.

“Can I get you something to drink?” Matt asked. He had changed into civilian clothes when they arrived.

She rubbed her face - carefully avoiding her nose - after setting her things down. Trying to get the warmth back in her skin. “Uh – anything of the alcoholic variety?” She could hear him chuckle as she struggled to get the sweatshirt off. His place was welcomingly cozy.

“Beer work?”

“Yes, please.” She met him at the fridge, after he pulled out and opened a bottle. He handed it over, surprising her when his other hand landed on the side of her waist.

“Sorry – want to make sure nothing’s punctured.”

Myah waited, still holding the beer out with a bemused expression on her face. “Everything okay in there?”

Matt’s hand drifted briefly to her back before coming back around the side and to her sternum. He gave a nod and his hand fell to his side. “Still broken,” he diagnosed, “Aligned, though. Not bothering anything else.”

“Thank god for that.” She said dryly. Tilting the bottle to her lips, she took a sip, eyeing Matt up and down. He seemed so normal now, not the intimidating lawyer or the martyr vigilante. Plaid pajama pants and bare feet had that effect on the man.

“Pardon me for asking, but you seem kind of tense… Everything okay?”

Myah rolled her eyes and padded over to the couch in the living room. Thankfully there was a throw blanket just waiting for her and she dragged it over her legs. Matt followed suit and took a seat next to her, and she tried to ignore her instinct to retreat from him. He _was_ showing her a kindness.

“How’s it going with uh… your new roommate?” He tried awkwardly.

The rest of the beer was gulped down in the next moment and Matt couldn’t help but laugh. “That bad, huh?”

“Mind if I have another?”

“Help yourself,” he said. She was already halfway off the couch. “Did you two have a fight or something?”

“You gonna ask me about Frank all night?” Myah asked, opening the fridge and grabbing a second bottle.

Matt grinned, “I don’t have to.” He waited for her to sit back down, “I just can’t help but be a little curious about what it’s like living with that guy.”

“Nicer than you might think.” Myah replied honestly.

“That is surprising,” he confirmed. Matt didn’t push the subject further. “Did you think any more about what I said?”

“Small talk really isn’t your thing, is it?” Eventually she nodded after taking another gulp of beer. “I did and… I want to tell you. I’m going to tell you… but I need to know what you’re gonna do with that information first.” Matt’s eyes roamed around her face before settling on a cheek, his expression unguarded. “I know you said you just wanted to be prepared for the worst… and I want to trust that…”

“But…” Matt led.

“I don’t think these are the type of people you can ‘prepare’ for.” Myah shook her head slowly, “There will always be more of ‘em… it’s a fight you can’t finish.”

Matt was undeterred, “Horizon seems a little brighter when you’ve faced the yakuza and lived.”

Myah cocked a brow at him, “No shit?”

He snorted, “No shit.” His arm darted across the couch and snagged the beer bottle from her loose grasp. He helped himself to a swig, resting his other arm on the end of the couch.

“How’d that go?” Myah asked. No bother trying to get the beer back – she was tucked back into the nice, warm blanket.

Matt laughed this time, dryly. “Sort of disastrous, depending on how you look at it.” He rubbed his face, leaning further back into the couch, murmuring “Don’t change the subject.” Myah groaned and his free hand raised in defense, “What are you so scared of?”

She leaned over to him and retrieved her beer, supposed they were sharing now. “Look – they’re not exactly guys I keep in touch with, all right?” She counted off her fingers, “I’ve probably seen them… what – five? Six times in the past few years? And the last time I saw them…”

“What?”

“Let’s just say my beat down from the Serbs wasn’t my first rodeo.”

Matt grimaced. “I don’t know how you do this for a living.” She merely shrugged in response, not knowing what else to say about it. “If that’s what you’re worried about then let me protect you. Hell, let _Frank_ protect you.”

“I don’t want him involved,” she said. Trailing off, she added, “He’s already done enough.”

“Myah…” he started, sounding exasperated, “At some point you’re gonna have to do something about them. You can’t do this forever. How many times are you gonna take beatings for them before you can’t get back up anymore?”

She gave him a pointed look - whether he took notice of it or not was unbeknownst to her – and took a large gulp of beer. “Okay, how ‘bout this – how ‘bout you give me a chance to talk to them first. Get some info. Try to find out what they’re up to. I’ll tell you what’s going on then, I’ll tell you _everything_.”

“Everything?”

“Everything.”

Matt considered. “When are you going to speak to them?”

“I sent them a message before you _attacked_ me on the roof-” she stopped, laughter interrupting her as Matt scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Had to tell them I was still up and running.”

“Or the dogs come sniffing?”

“Something like that.”

 

 ~

 

Going around the streets asking questions wasn’t working well enough, Frank decided. After finally getting a real name and some information, he thought his need to know all there was to know about Myah would subside.  In reality, it had the opposite effect entirely. He found himself wanting to know where she was born. What school she went to and what kind of student she was. He wanted to know what her mother was like before she died, what her deadbeat father was like. He wanted to know what her aspirations were before she was trained to be a killer. He wanted the names of the men she reported to and he had to admit – he _kind_ _of_ wanted them dead.

Frank wanted to know all of this about her and most of all, he knew why he wanted to know it.  He might be a monster but he wasn’t a robot. Shit, if he really wanted to sit and think it through, it’d probably even make sense.

In a way, she was just like him. She had crossed that line a long time ago, the one you couldn’t come back from. Killing was a part of her, had been for years. Her aloofness was no front – she separated herself from others purposefully. Knew she was nothing like them and couldn’t be even if she wanted to or tried.

He could sense his short fused side wanting to be mad about it. Mad that he was distracted, that he was attracted to this young woman - making him feel things he’d buried along with his dead wife – so much so that he was currently sitting in a goddamn public library looking for anything he could find on her.

Tossing around the name Viteritti earned him a quick pistol-whipping so he was going to scratch that idea for now. At least until he could trust that his intel wouldn’t result in stirring a pot he had nothing to do with.

So that night he made a visit to the library. Something he would normally never do because of his high profile. But it was nearing closing hours and seemed vacant enough and he was sort of avoiding the apartment for the time being… Yes, he was being childish.

Newspaper chronicles were kept in the back of the library. Advanced searches over the internet required some type of login or one-month free trial, credit card number provided bull shit and Frank didn’t have patience for that. Sorting through chronology using manual labor was much easier. After simple math he figured he’d start with the year 2004. Police blotters and obits were what he was looking out for.

After some time, Frank paused and looked over his shoulder. An older woman, an associate, probably in her sixties was stopped mid stride staring at him. He sighed. It’d been 16 months and forty minutes and he didn’t want to lose his spot.

“Ma’am,” he started, clearing his throat and trying (failing) to look as approachable as possible. “I’m not lookin’ to start any trouble.”

The woman considered him for a moment and looked around to see if anyone was within earshot. When she faced him again, her chin was pointed up in the air. “This time o’night? You’re the type o’trouble I’d _like_ to have around.”

Frank didn’t know how to respond to that, but he chuckled despite himself. “Thank you,” he said, offering a smile before resuming where he left off.

A moment later and he had found something. At first it wasn’t much of a something – a very short worded blurb about the disappearance of a Dominic Viteritti. It was the first mention of a Viteritti that Frank had found so far. Not very subtly, the blurb remarked on his alleged involvement with the mafia. Dominic Viteritti. That would help narrow down the search, at least.

He stayed at the library, cross referencing the man’s name with police blotters until it closed. After printing out some paperwork he felt now like his itch had been scratched for the time being. Reluctantly, he decided to head back to the apartment. Regardless of how he meant to handle whatever was happening between he and Myah, it was getting late and Porthos was due for a walk.

 

 

The girl would never stop surprising him, it seemed. Frank was met with darkness upon arriving. He flicked the light switch to find the place empty save for Porthos. Myah wasn’t afraid of him. Wouldn’t stay put when he fucking told her to. _That_ pissed him off more than anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took me a while to get this one out. Usually I have the tendency of just procrastinating but this time around I can actually say I've been busy!  
> Anyway, hope this sufficed for any of you good folks following this  
> As always - thank you so so much for reviewing, kudos-ing, whatever. Just thanks.
> 
> Xx


	9. Revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To anyone following this - yes, I can be utter shite at updating.  
> But I'm back in the grooove and hope to be posting more frequently now. Hope you dig this.  
> X

Porthos nearly tackled Myah as they found her standing outside the entrance to Frank’s building. _Traitor_ , Frank thought, even with the light flutter in his stomach that he pointedly ignored.

He approached as Myah knelt down, spewing baby-voiced words as she ruffled Porthos’s head. There was a man retreating from her, he noticed, wearing a black pea coat and a scarf. Frank couldn’t tell who it was from that angle, but he had a sneaking suspicion.

He finally stopped once he stood in front of her, noticing she had her backpack on. Something he knew didn’t come from his place. It had been strenuous, muffling the brewing anger in his chest when he’d found she wasn’t in his apartment. But he walked it off, and looking at her now, seeing she was okay, he figured he shouldn’t have been surprised she made a getaway for her apartment.

It probably helped that she was wearing his clothes, looking so tiny under his sweater. Frank would never admit that, though.

Taking her attention off Porthos, Myah brushed her hands on her thighs as she came to a stand. “Hey.”

Frank nodded, haphazardly whistling at Porthos to get him to calm down. “Nighttime stroll?”

“In a matter of speaking,” she replied, looking a little guilty. “You?”

“Somethin’ like that.”

 

 

The short ride up in the elevator held a tense air, neither of them saying anything at first. Myah fidgeted with her nails and Frank stood quiet, his upturned hood hiding his face in the already dim lift.

“Sorry.” He finally said.

“No, Frank, I’m sorry,” Myah insisted, dropping her hands, relieved he spoke first. “I shouldn’t have – I should have asked, I shouldn’t have just thrown myself -”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” he murmured, “You didn’t throw yourself, it was a joint effort. I had to go and be the asshole.”

Well, she certainly wasn’t going to be the one to say that but at least he realized. She leaned back against the wall and looked at him. “I don’t have to stay,” she said quietly. “I’ve got money, I can just go – you’ve done more than enough.”

Frank looked at her from underneath his hood, continued to look in the way that always made her start to feel uneasy. There was a buzzing sound and the elevator doors slid open. Neither of them moved. “You don’t have to leave.”

Myah was grateful to hear it. She hadn’t wanted to leave, but was prepared to. All feelings aside, she liked staying with him after spending all these years alone… Porthos was a plus. She moved to exit the elevator when Frank spoke up again, making her stop.

“I forgot what it all feels like, y’know?” She turned to look at him but he was focused on the floor. The doors slid shut behind her. Porthos stood loyally at Frank’s side and the elevator didn’t move. It was late – probably not too many people going in and out. “You’ve been… making me feel like a goddamn teenager again. Doesn’t help now that we’re sitting around playin’ house.”

She went to interrupt him, tried to offer leaving again but once he looked up at her she was silenced. “Then you go and kiss me and I’m not gonna lie, it confused the shit out’a me.”

“Frank -”

“It’s been a while since I’ve done any of that shit,” he continued, talking over her. “I don’t know how to do that anymore.” He looked seriously at her now, and frankly, the more he spoke, the faster her heartbeat was climbing. She couldn’t bear to hold eye contact any longer, and turned her back to him. Instead her eyes bore holes through the elevator doors. The heat of the small space became suffocating.

“I can’t be your boyfriend,” he dryly stated the obvious, though a smile was in his voice. “I couldn’t even if I wanted to. I’d more likely hurt you than not… I can’t give you… _romance_ , or whatever it is you might be looking for.”

“That’s not what I’m looking for,” Myah retorted, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms over her chest with a strangled sigh. “And to be honest, I think you’d be pretty bad at it.”

She ignored his raspy chuckle and pressed the button to his floor again. Frank followed her off of the lift with Porthos in tow. Her heart was pounding in her chest, not having expected that to be where the conversation would lead. The tip of her boot clicked on the floor with nervous energy, waiting for him to unlock the door.

Once inside, “You were gonna break in, or what?”

Myah faked a loud laugh as she kicked off her boots and nudged them aside, next to Frank’s. “He’s got jokes,” she mused. She dragged her backpack and rifle case into the bedroom, stashing them both in Frank’s closet.

“Who’s that you were with outside?” Frank shouted from the kitchen. From Porthos’s whines she could tell Frank was about to feed him.

“Matt. He walked me back.”

There was a pause, and then – “Murdock? What the hell were you doin’ with him?”

Myah rolled her eyes. She pulled the beanie off her head and ran her fingers through her hair, shaking it out. “Y’know, you two _love_ talkin’ about each other. You might wanna start thinking ‘bout becoming exclusive.” The sweatshirt came off next as she laughed to herself. Her arm got stuck in one of the sleeves while she pulled. “Just saying… it could be…” she trailed off, finding Frank standing in the doorway, his brows raised.

“Cute.”

Frank ignored her like he often did and stepped into the bedroom, hand outstretched. Myah looked confused until he took hold of the sweatshirt and helped pull it off. Her heart was just starting to calm down and he had to go and get in her personal space again.

His little talk in the elevator did nothing to calm her nerves. After being ignored and feeling like he wanted her gone, it was downright confusing. Myah had little experience when it came to this sort of thing. Did he want her or not? And if he wanted her, was he going to do something about it? And if he wasn’t, what was she supposed to do? She had offered to move out – well, she technically hadn’t moved in, but - was this how it was going to be from now on?

All these garbled thoughts came to a halt as Frank’s hand clasped around her elbow. Her brows furrowed, staring at his hand, mouth falling open when he tugged her toward him until they stood nose to chest.

“Frank,” she said, looking up at him. Voice coming out in a hoarse whisper.

If possible, he seemed more lost than she was. His expression entirely unreadable. Then, in one fluid movement, his hands moved around her neck, his thumbs pressing under her chin to raise her head so he could kiss her.

They were both tentative at first. Myah tried her hardest not to respond too quickly; his touch alone making her skin feel on fire.

He pulled away for just a moment, moving impossibly closer to her. An arm maneuvered around her waist, fingertips gripping at the side of her hip and he kissed her again. Myah was completely motionless while he moved his lips over hers, just until his teeth nicked on her upper lip, making her breath hitch in her throat.

Finally, she reacted. She went straight for his waist, clinging on through his sweatshirt. Her nails dug in; the fabric still cool to the touch. With a tilt of his head, he pried her mouth open with his, sliding his tongue between her lips.

If it weren’t for his hold, she would’ve fallen over. Her knees went weak, back arching slightly as Frank leaned in, kissing her harder, his tongue gliding against hers. She reciprocated with a moan, standing on the tips of her toes to move her hands up his chest and over his shoulders. They each gripped onto each other by the back of their necks, kissing until they needed to break for air.

Frank panted through parted lips, not budging an inch to let her go.

“Frank,” Myah said gently, catching her breath as well. He seemed unperturbed and she almost hated herself for having to interrupt. “Weren’t you _just_ saying that -”

“I said I wasn’t gonna play boyfriend.” Frank cut in, adjusting so he was hunched over, gripping onto the back of her thighs. “Didn’t say I don’t want you.”

A throb started between her legs and all she could say was, “Oh.” It mattered not; in the next second, Frank was picking her up, hoisting her up till her knees met his hips. She grabbed onto his shoulders with a grunt, then heaved a sigh once her back hit his mattress.

Frank melded into her, practically smothering her with his lips. She eagerly opened her mouth, wanting to feel his tongue again. Both arms draped around his neck, fingers lapsing into his hair. He let out an unexpected groan; the mere sound effect made her push her hips into his.

She could hardly believe this was even happening. A few mere moments ago, she was back to fearing overstepping her boundaries again. Now, Frank was on top of her, heavily kissing her to the point that his stubble gnawed against her skin, resting all of his weight on top of her body. She desperately wanted more.

Not wanting to break apart again, her fingers pulled clumsily at his sweatshirt. Their teeth just barely clashed as he unzipped it. Myah pushed it over his shoulders, making a joint effort to finally remove it. They both seemed relieved by the damn thing. Her hands bore over every bit of his upper body they could find. They grasped onto his biceps, rubbed up his back, trailed the slim line of skin that was exposed between his shirt and his pants.

Her fingers tickled his flesh there and suddenly his pelvis dug into hers with a moan stifled against her lips. _Lord_ , she could even feel he was hard.

Myah gasped loudly as he pulled away. Not going far, though. His lips dragged down her chin, down to her neck where he sucked in a patch of her skin, pinching it softly between his teeth. He roamed around her throat, kissing and sucking lightly, to the point her eyes started rolling back.

“Frank,” she said yet again, this time half moaning, half pleading.

Both of his arms wrapped around her waist and he squeezed tightly, lifting her back from the mattress, his hips simultaneously thrusting into hers.

“Ah -!” She gasped suddenly. The goddamn ribs. She dropped her hand from his back to clutch at her abdomen, wincing slightly.

Frank eased her out of his grip, held himself up on his hands to look down on her.

“That hurt?”

“I’m fine,” Myah insisted, not wanting this to ruin the moment. “The stupid things are just -”

“We should stop.” Frank suggested.

The pout on her face was enough to make him chuckle. A small, genuine smile on his face that she rarely got to see. “I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“I’m _fine_ ,” she groaned again in protest. But the moment was already over. Frank gave her jaw a kiss before rolling over onto his back next to her. His arm lay over her side and she latched onto it, pulling it over her chest to cuddle like a pillow.

In unison their chests heaved until they recovered.

“Wouldn’t be so big a deal if I hadn’t took a swing at Murdock,” Myah finally spewed spitefully.

“What he do this time?”

Myah heaved a sigh and came clean about her escapade, giving him detail from breaking into her own apartment to being startled by Matt, to their conversation afterward. Without question, Frank pulled away from her so he could pull some papers from his sweatshirt. He kept quiet as he handed them over to her.

After a brief browse, she set them down on her lap. “Looking up after me?”

“I need to know.”

“I told you what you wanted to know.” She countered, sounding defensive. “You don’t trust me?”

“S’not like that.” Frank responded. “I just need to know.”

She couldn’t be mad. Gave half an effort, but she couldn’t. Instead she curled up to his side, reclaiming her hold on his arm. Pressed her forehead to his shoulder.

“Satisfied yet?”

There was a long pause. Frank had found her father. Had found the story media had printed about him and then some. He no longer needed her to tell him exactly who her employers were. With enough footwork he’d be able to track them down himself.

“No.” He finally said.

Myah heaved a sigh. Between him and Daredevil it felt like the city would grow smaller and smaller until it swallowed her whole. They both kept picking and it drove her nuts. Not too long ago, it seemed, she was totally on her own, a shut-in. But now she had the two most notorious vigilantes on her case and she couldn’t quite place how she felt about it yet.

The comforting thought was that she was back on the same page with Frank again. She squeezed a little tighter onto his arm, not wanting to let go. And that – she wasn’t going to analyze.

It was then, in the quiet of the bedroom, nothing but the wind blasting against the window, that her reverie was broken. The jingle was partly muffled, but emitting loud enough that they both looked up toward the closet as her phone went off, signaling a message.


	10. Preparation

 

Matt was quiet for a time after she stopped speaking. They were walking through the Park; Myah was responsible for Porthos for the day while Frank was out of town somewhere. Matt met her on his lunch break and she filled him in on everything. Her history, her hits, who she worked for and her most recent conversation she had with them.

She’d received a message with a phone number to call and when she did, she had a very short and curt conversation with her boss who she hadn’t spoken to in several months. Even during the routine of obtaining assignments, Myah never spoke directly to him. She would only receive an encrypted social security number that - thanks to her multiple temporary civil service positions – once decrypted, she’d have the access to track down who the individual was.

Her hands had shaken upon hearing his voice. He’d informed her that business was getting too loud and that they had to meet in person. Someone would follow up at a later date to inform her of when and where.

“So, now that everything’s out on the table…” Myah started.

“What do you think they’re going to do?” Matt asked seriously. The wheels were turning in his head and though he couldn't make sense of it all just yet, he was already contemplating plans of action.

Myah tossed the tennis ball, watching Porthos sprint away to fetch it.

“They’re gonna kill me, Matt.” She said matter-of-factly.

Matt stopped walking to turn his face in her direction. “You can’t know that.”

“I do.” Myah said somberly. “Things got messy here. Messier than they’ve ever been for me. The last time I saw them, they were pissed because I didn’t deliver on time. I needed to be taught a lesson. Nearly as bad as what the Serbs gave me. If they found out even half the things I’ve gotten mixed up in…”

“What things?”

“Like you,” Myah said as Porthos came back. She picked the ball back up and tossed it again. “Like Frank. Remember when we met? You thought I’d taken care of five people. I was only assigned to three, then one of their hideouts go to shit after you two came after me.” She shook her head, laughing dryly. “It looks like I’ve gone rogue. Worse, depending on how much they know, it looks like I’m sharing intel with you both. Which I am, but… that’s beside the point.”

“I should never have compromised you like that.” Matt said. “I never even thought that -”

“It doesn’t matter.” Myah snapped; a sigh followed with an aggravated shrug. She picked up the tennis ball, giving it a full swing to the distance. Her body was finally feeling like it was getting back together. Still some stiffness here and there but her ribs were mostly healed and she’d started some exercises in the past few days to get back into shape.

“You’re a 'good guy', Matt. There was no way we weren’t gonna cross paths once I got here.”

“What’s Frank got to say about this?”

She heaved another sigh, unsure how to answer. “He wants to have my back when they come; I don’t want him to. I don’t want him involved or getting mixed up with these people but…”

“He’s too stubborn for that.”

“ _God_!” She exclaimed suddenly, startling him. “Isn’t he, though?” She shook her head but finally let herself laugh at the thought of it. “It’s… _infuriating_ sometimes.”

Matt had an idea, but he wished he could see her expression at that moment. He could feel her irritation but at the same time, could sense her adrenaline spiking at the mention of Frank. Could tell that she found the musing comforting.

“You, uh… you two are… _something_ , aren’t you.” Matt said more than asked, tip-toeing around the subject.

Myah considered it. Her and Frank hadn’t gotten up to anything since the night her phone rang. She didn’t find him the affectionate type so she didn’t try to push being physical. But that didn’t mean she got used to the feeling of her skin tingling every time she looked at him. Each time he got in bed with her since. If she wasn’t well aware that he had the strength to toss her across the room if he wanted, she would’ve even pounced on him, given the opportunity.

She tugged on the zipper of her jacket, feeling a little unnerved. “Somethin’s the word.”

Matt said no more on the subject, not wanting to pry for once. Instead he lent her his arm to guide him through the Park. Porthos tailed the rear, sniffing snow-covered bushes and finding other sticks to play with.

“You know, Myah, I never made a habit of keeping friends who take hits for money. But you don’t deserve this and I’ll do whatever I can to help you.”

Myah snorted and gave his arm a squeeze. “It was bound to happen sooner or later. You can’t get wrapped in this kind’a trade and turn out for the brighter. You said it yourself.”

“I shouldn’t have.” Matt retorted. “You didn’t have a choice, you had no other options.”

“I still did it.” Myah said, frowning slightly.

Matt shook his head, feeling frustrated. “You should just leave town; let me try to handle this.”

“I thought about that,” she offered. Matt made a gesture that asked why not. “I don’t _want_ to,” she explained. “I’ve been on my own for over a decade, never had anyone to talk to except for random townies every now and then and the frickin' mob. I… I like it here. I like being with Frank.” There was a pause of consideration, “Even you sometimes… when you don’t have an agenda.”

He smirked, even let himself laugh. “You know how dysfunctional you sound, right?”

Myah rolled her eyes. “You’re not so bad either, _friend_.”

Matt ignored her sarcasm. “Tell him I want to meet. We should figure out our next moves.”

He received a whiny groan in response. Looked like Matt was going to be as stubborn as Frank on this one.

 

 

 

Frank had told her to meet him outside his building at a certain time, and when she did, she was surprised to find him sitting in a pickup truck. She’d never seen him drive; didn’t even know he had a truck lying around.

“When’d you learn to steal cars?” She asked, climbing in. Thankful he had the heat running, and she noticed two cups of coffee in the cup holders. Hiding a smile, she held her hands over the vents to warm up and looked expectantly at him. He merely shrugged a shoulder at her, shifting gears to pull away from the curb.

“Overseas.”

It wasn’t until they crossed over a bridge that Myah wondered where they were heading. She voiced as much.

“Time to stock up.” Frank explained. Her head snapped in his direction and he gestured to the backseat. Looking back, she saw three empty military grade duffle bags. She turned to purse her lips in Frank’s direction but said nothing.

Infuriatingly to Myah, he stifled a laugh, doing a double take when he saw her expression. “What – you uh, you not gonna argue with me this time?”

She wasn’t going to lie, she certainly wanted to. Frank got himself mixed up in too much shit on his own, she was only exacerbating it. She was pretty positive that he could take care of himself, he had enough reputation for her to believe that. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t scared. And if anything happened to him -

“Hey,” he said, voice gravelly. “Think I’d take care of you this long… just to have some shitbags get their way?”

For once, he missed the mark on what she was thinking about. But still, her face softened as she watched him drive. He was visibly gnawing on the inside of his cheek, his fingers tight on the wheel. She wanted to reach out and hold his hand, but knew better than to try.

“I think it’s been too long since you let anyone worry about you, Frank.”  

That was enough to stir something in him. He looked at her for as long as he could, taking his attention off the road to size her up. She fidgeted under his stare – he looked frustrated, and his mouth opened and closed a few times before turning his attention back to the road.

They turned onto a dirt road and drove about a mile before Frank veered off of it, heading straight into the woods. If Myah hadn’t already held a confident trust in him, she would’ve entertained the thought that he was going to kill her and get rid of the body. At least it was still light out, she reasoned.

Twenty more minutes of the truck bobbing and lurching and Frank was pulling up to a cabin. Myah hesitated to climb out, instead looked at Frank, waiting for him to move first. He switched off the truck and rubbed his chin, heaving a sigh. She could practically see the wheels turning in his head.

“The last time I stood by and did nothing,” he started, his voice cutting through the silence so suddenly she nearly jumped, “Everything I knew was taken from me.” He opened his door and hopped out, boots crunching on the dead leaves, broken sticks and leftover snow. He nearly closed the door, but paused looking at her. He looked vulnerable, even more so with how snuggled up he was– his sweatshirt stuffed underneath his zipped up jacket.

“I’m not gonna let that happen again.”

Myah’s stunned reaction was left to face the door as he slammed it shut. He moved to the backdoor, opening and closing it to retrieve the bags before walking off toward the cabin. She hurriedly followed suit, still trying to process his words.

 

The front half of the cabin had been filled with random junk. Cabinets stocked with rusty tools, broken flashlights and scraps of tarp. Small, rickety looking tables that looked like they couldn’t bear more than ten pounds worth of weight.

Frank left her by the door to head for the back. The only source of light spilled between the cracks in the wood that made up the building. There was a floor to ceiling cabinet that, with a good shove, swung outward and to the side. The wooden wall behind it heaved with the right touch of his hand and opened like a door before him.

Now she stood in the second half of the cabin. Surrounded by the most massive supply of automatic weapons she’d ever seen, a thin gate the only thing separating her from them. As she let out a low whistle, breath exited her mouth in a gust of fog in the frigid air. Each wall was backlit, illuminating the black firearms – and more – perfectly in the otherwise shadowy enclosure.

“Frank, this is… Impressive.”

Absentmindedly, she reached out to touch the AK closest to her when Frank’s “Stop,” startled her. She turned to look at him, finding a small smirk on his features. “They’re wired up. You’ll get a nice surprise if you keep pokin’ around.”

Myah quickly retrieved her hand, stifling her laugh instead. Frank was on the other side of the room, had a panel open to press some buttons. There was a low humming sound in the gates in front of her, then Frank was behind her, reaching over her shoulder to pull it up.

Almost instantly, the AK was in her grip and in position, tucked into her shoulder. She checked out the scope before pulling out the mezzanine to get a look at what it was packing. She whistled again. Nodded her head in approval, and reloaded.

“So, this is where you keep all the good stuff.” Halfway through turning around to look at him, she stopped. Frank hadn’t moved from behind her, seemed to be watching her intently. Her pulse picked up a few notches, trying not to be distracted by him, by what he’d said to her back in the truck. A hard feat to accomplish given Frank’s physicality.

He took no notice of his intrusion. Instead took the AK from her hands and checked the safety before packing it away. She turned back to look at the weaponry, but suddenly even that couldn’t keep her mind off him now. His declaration loomed in her head and while he seemed fine with moving on to focus on packing up enough artillery to take down a small army, she wasn’t.

“Frank,” she said, getting his attention. He looked up at her, grenade in hand, and she laughed nervously. Realizing she hadn’t even thought of something to say.

“What?” He questioned, sounding irritated. Shaking his head, he turned his back to her. Finished loading the bag and carried it out of the room to dump in the truck. Myah stayed behind, a thousand thoughts rushing through her at once that it turned to a dull buzz in her brain.

Finally, she moved to rush after him, nearly tripping as the toe of her boot caught the nook that divided the cabin. She could hear the truck door slam shut as she righted herself, then Frank was back in the cabin. Moving in her direction, intent on filling up another duffel bag with ammunition.

She didn’t move out of his way. Once he got close enough she stepped toward him, planted her hands on either of his shoulders. Frank looked down at her, confused as she dug her fingers into his jacket. She gave him about half a second to shove her away before standing on the tips of her toes to slam her lips onto his.

Myah wasn’t gentle about it like she was the last time; her arms moved around his neck, one hand clasping onto the back of his head. She practically forced his mouth open, his lack of affectionate side be damned, nearly sobbing into his mouth once he granted her leave. She kissed him hungrily, to the point she couldn’t even tell if he was responding to her or not until she was being moved backwards.

The edge of the shitty table she’d eyed out on the way in, hit her right in the ass as Frank pushed her into it. There was a loud clanking noise as it hit the wall, but Frank didn’t pull away. Instead he was pushing into her farther and farther until she had nowhere to go but up and climbed backward onto the table.

Frank scooted between her legs, hands tugging at the bottom of her sweatshirt to roughly grip on her hips, then slide his fingers up her shirt.

She jumped with a start, laughing as Frank broke away, looking concerned. “Hands are cold.”

His gulp was loud when he nodded. Much to her protest, he pulled his hands out from under her shirt. One moved to grip the back of her neck, the other took hold behind her knee, hiking her leg up to drape over his hip. In the rare moments Frank allowed himself to picture being with a woman again, this was certainly not the place, but… given the circumstances, he was hardly bothered. Instead more focused on the way Myah looked up at him with doe eyes, brought her hands to his chest to pull at the zipper of his jacket.

He ran the palm of his hand back and forth over the meat of her thigh, building up enough friction to make it warm. Her heel pressed against his backside, locking him in between her legs. His jacket unzipped, she arched her back and wrapped her arms around his waist, his hand teased into her ponytail and they kissed again, slower this time. Their lips dragged over each other’s, tongues darting out at the center.

Frank leaned forward, crouching to pin her against the wall. His hand moved down the inside of her thigh, grazing briefly between her legs before retreating to her knee again. She groaned against his lips and could feel him smile underneath. He moved his hand again, and without warning this time, he cupped his palm over her crotch, fingers pressing hard into her jeans as he ran them up and down.

Her breath hitched in her throat. Heartbeat started to race. “ _Frank_ ,” she murmured, half into his mouth while her hands gripped harder onto his sweatshirt.

Frank merely shushed her, grinding his hand between her legs until she was panting. Little puffs of air escaped them both, a cloud of fog between them.

He kissed the corner of her mouth, making a trail down her jaw until nestling into the crook of her neck. His ministrations made her frantic; her hands wouldn’t stay still on him. She clenched onto his waist, moved to yank on the neck of his hoodie, ran down his chest until finally holding onto his biceps. Frank would’ve found it all amusing if he wasn’t feeling the same effect. He was hard in his pants, pressing firmly into the fabric.

He let go of the hold on her hair. Unbuttoned her jeans and tugged the zipper down. One hand slid inside, rubbing her through her underwear. She was so warm it made him groan, made him move his fingers along her lips, down to her center and rub little circles, urging her on.

They were pressed so tightly together, he could feel her begin to tremble against him. He pulled away from her neck, rested his forehead on hers instead so he could watch her react to what he did to her. He couldn’t help but smile, seeing the look of frustration on her face, the little pout on her lips as her hands balled into fists on his arms.

With what little room he had left, he shifted closer between her legs. There was an audible creak in the table and they spared each other a nervous glance, chuckling breathlessly when they were sure the table wouldn’t break underneath her.

Myah’s smile vanished when he slipped his hand beneath her underwear. Her whine was loud. Teeth latched onto her bottom lip as his fingers dragged between her lips. Couldn’t hold back the buck of her hips when his thumb ran over her clit.

“ _Jesus_ , Frank,” she cursed, but he paid her no mind. It’d been a while since he’d done this and it was like relearning all of it again. He gauged every fraction of movement on her face, the sound of every gasp and moan that left her mouth. The way her hips stuttered against his hand, and pitch of the sob that escaped when he slid his fingers inside her.

Her hands flew to wrap tight around his neck, bringing his head down to kiss him again, whimpering over his mouth as he started pumping in and out. Both of her legs held around his waist with a vice grip.

He moved his fingers faster, simultaneously circling her clit with the pad of his thumb. He could tell she was going to finish soon by the way she panted, whole body trembling now. Even her hold on him was weakening.

So he kissed her harder, sucked her lip between his teeth and nibbled. Bent his wrist to press deeper inside her making her cry out. He took hold of her throat, forcing her to look up at him so he could watch. Her breath fanned his face, coming out in heaving waves and he sped his thumb up just a little bit more. Her brows furrowed, a strangled moan tumbled out of her and then she was coming, hips bucking up in his direction, her legs squeezed around him, jerking him forward. Her hands were half pulling, half pushing at his shoulders. He could feel her tightening spasmodically around his fingers as he gently slid them out, removing his hand from her pants.

Once her breathing seemed a little less frantic, he planted a chaste kiss on her lips. Gripped softly onto her thighs to pry her off of him.

Myah ran a shaky hand over her face, eyeing him up as he zipped her pants and buttoned them back up.

“Ever… the gentleman.” She joked between breaths.

Frank helped her off the table, pulled her sweatshirt back down, even fixed her ponytail. Myah wanted to say something, to remark on the moment, but the look in his eyes kept her from doing so.

 

They finished packing up ammunition in mostly silence. When they climbed back into the truck they stared at each other for a minute before Frank went to take a sip of his coffee. He made a face of disdain before rolling down the window and dumped the remaining contents out.

The ride home was just as quiet as the rest of the time spent in the cabin. But when Myah put her hand to rest on his thigh, she was happy to find he wouldn’t remove it. Didn’t even budge an inch.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked this one as much as I did XD  
> Yes, the moment between Matt and Myah was a wee cheesy but I need them to be friends dangit, and what better to bring two people together than cheese and the impending threat of death?? 
> 
> Thanks everyone for the kudos, comments, etc  
> X


	11. Family Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Notice of rating change. Thought it'd be more appropriate now :)

 

 

“So, how many?”

“Tomorrow? Probably the cleanup crew.” Myah shrugged. “Two, three tops. They’ll want this to be low key. No shoot out or anything. I’d bet you a _fifty_ they send Joey, he’s this guy who -”

“Any chance they’ll send more than a cleanup crew?” Matt asked, interrupting.

She sighed and aggressively sucked a sugar snap pea into her mouth. “I mean – I do intend to kill them.” A smirk etched itself on her face as Matt sent a glare in her general direction. “Try not to forget what I do for a living, buddy.”

“Not likely.”

There was a dramatic pause while they sized each other up. The room fell quiet save for the sound of metal clinking as Frank took apart and cleaned his firearms.  It had been an odd evening. Matt came over to Frank’s place so they could ‘talk strategy’. Myah didn’t mind much because he decided to bring over Chinese – Frank had made a face muttering something about _greasy shit_. Matt kept busy by drilling them both with questions about the meet taking place the next day.

“I’d say at least twenty.” Myah finally said.

Behind his glasses, Matt’s eyebrows raised to his hairline. She shrugged again, using chopsticks to help herself to more Lo Mein. “The cleanup crew,” she started to explain, finishing her mouthful, “is their most efficient men. No one sees ‘em, no one hears ‘em, and no one finds the body. If I’m able to take ‘em out, then it’s gonna end up being all hands on deck.”

Matt set his food aside and hunched, shaking his head, almost in disbelief. “How important are you to them?”

She huffed, rolling her eyes at the backhanded complement as she stabbed into her take out box with the chopsticks.  

“How many hits?” Frank asked, sensing her irritation. A half-loaded magazine was balanced on his knee. Myah turned her gaze to him on the opposite end of the couch and her face immediately softened. It was difficult for her to feel mad once she was looking at him. Especially with his forehead scrunched in concern, lips slightly pouting, framed by a beard that was starting to grow in since he hadn’t shaved in a few days.

“One hundred thirty-seven.”

Even Frank was mildly surprised. She ignored Matt’s muttering and continued staring at Frank until he broke eye contact, looked to Matt instead.

“How many assholes would you send to take out someone with that kind of information?” He asked him.

“Connections to that many murders, names of bosses and lord knows what else? At least twenty.” He answered sarcastically.

The couch suddenly shifted as Frank stood up. Without saying a word, he walked down the hall into his bedroom. When he came back, he reached over the back of the couch to hand her something heavy.

“Forgot this.”

Myah inspected it as he sat back down and reached for the next magazine – a bulletproof vest. She’d lost hers the night the Serbs took her.

She gave a light gasp and turned to him, beaming. “Frank, I-”

“ _Stop_ ,” he immediately groaned, keeping his attention on bullets.

Matt couldn’t help but chuckle even though Myah sulked at his rejection, “Y’know, Frank, most girls like flowers.”

Frank stopped what he was doing to look up at Matt. If looks could kill, he would’ve been long gone. To add emphasis, Frank loaded his gun and leaned forward on his knees. Matt’s laughter sobered up shortly after that.

“ _Anyway_ , Matt,” Myah interjected. She set her food aside to hold the vest in her lap. Her fingers fondly played with its seams. “It’s not like we’re gonna dismantle the Mafia here. I don’t know who does or doesn’t know about me except for who’s been in Brooklyn or Jersey.” Both men gave her questioning looks. “Born and somewhat raised,” she elaborated. “Besides… if they manage to finish me off tomorrow, you won’t have to worry about any of this.”

She could tell Frank was biting his tongue at her remark. With Matt present, he was saving face, and she was honestly grateful for it because she wasn’t ready to have that discussion with him again.

“And what happens if they don’t?”

Myah forced a nonchalant shrug, “I get outta dodge. I’ve got the funds – I’m set.” At this point, she could feel the holes Frank was staring into her. It was the first time she said this aloud. She’d thought of it repeatedly, what she would have to do if she did get out. But the mafia wasn’t leaving any time in the near future so she had to if it meant avoiding continual onslaught. The agonizing part was having to come to terms with leaving Frank. She would never expect him to leave New York. He said himself that he’d never stop doing what he did and she believed it. Nothing would sever his commitment. He would always be the Punisher.

Just then, Matt’s phone rang. It repeated ‘Foggy’ in a robotic tone until he picked it up.

While he took the call, she had the chance to let herself look at Frank. He was still burning holes in her and she flinched under the scrutiny of it. He looked about ready to say something but bit his lip and looked away; Matt was hanging up.

“I have to get going,” he announced. “Call me tomorrow. When something big goes down, I want to know about it.”

“You gonna call it in?” Myah mocked.

“Actually, yeah,” he said, rising from his seat and pocketing his phone. He moved to the kitchen to chuck his food and put on his coat. “The neatest way of ending this is with a clean sweep. I know that’s what neither of you are accustomed to, but I think you’ll agree.”

Frank said nothing, staring ahead at the wall in front of him. Myah did see his reasoning, but this was personal. She wanted it to end that way.

Matt neared the front door before doubling back. He strode to the couch and reached over to grasp her shoulder in his hand. Several times, she heard him open his mouth and begin to speak before closing it again. “Call me tomorrow,” he finally settled on.

About as soon as the door shut behind him, Myah was rising from the couch, setting her new vest aside. Still wasn’t ready to face Frank. “I’m gonna hop in the shower.”

 

 

                                                                                                            

 

 She was busy combing her hair out when he came in. The room was dim, all the lights turned off in the apartment save for the small lamp on his nightstand. There had been a noticeable change in his demeanor in the past hour, one she hadn’t quite grasped earlier but now that they were alone, the unnerving feeling was harder to shake.

It probably didn’t help being perched at the head of his bed in her underwear and one of his thermals that she still favored, long after she had her own supply of clothes.

Frank stopped at the foot of the bed, staring down at her.

The comb paused halfway through her hair, her mouth hung slightly open at him. “Everything okay?”

It was still routine for her to ask him to sleep with her. She’d long gotten past the insecurity that he wouldn’t, but the mere exchange of it became an odd way of flirting with him. The first time she asked him and several times after, he seemed reluctant, almost like it was a chore. In the past couple of weeks, she would ruffle his hair, much to his chagrin. And he’d grunt a response, waiting for her to get in bed before he joined. In the past few days, she’d press her foot against his thigh, already in a pair of his shorts and he’d mutely follow. Frank wasn’t much of a cuddler, but he’d let her drape an arm around his torso, sometimes tuck her leg between his and they’d fall asleep.

All of that was why, at this moment, butterflies tossed around in her stomach.

“It’s been a night,” was all he said.

“That right?” Myah asked.

Frank said nothing. Instead clambered onto the bed. She’d been sitting cross legged and loudly gasped when his hand encircled one of her ankles and yanked her in his direction. Her legs were slightly parted now, him perched between them, eyes dark as they roamed over her. She let the comb drop out of her hand and it clattered to the floor. Then her mouth went dry as Frank pulled off his shirt. The sight of him was enough distraction to soften whatever reaction she might have had when he nestled between her thighs, ran his lips along the inside of one of them.

All the attraction she held for him pooled deep inside her belly in that moment.

He held himself still; his hand grasped her knee, slightly pushed upward till the inside of it grazed his mouth. He nuzzled there, making her squirm. His hot breath raised bumps on her skin.

He lingered for so long that she thought he might just stop. She didn’t think she could speak but as soon as she opened her mouth, he moved on her thigh. He kissed his way up, tongue darting out just the slightest before nipping her flesh.

“Frank,” she finally muttered, voice so tight it partly sounded like a warning.

Heaving a sigh, she sunk back into the bed once his eyes raised to meet hers. The look in them was animalistic, almost predatory. “You want me to stop?” He asked dryly.  Myah forced a laugh down her chest and bit her lip, shaking her head. Then his fingers raked over her thighs, leaving thin pale trails until he grasped the waistband of her underwear. Suddenly he was sitting up and pulled them down her legs. Myah was half tempted to question what had gotten into him when, next thing she knew, her legs were hooked over his shoulders, his mouth just barely touching her lips between them.

“Take my shirt off,” he ordered, voice so low and husky she almost didn’t hear him.

“Hm?” All she could focus on in that moment was his mouth.

“My shirt. Take it off.”

The thermal was barely over her breasts when he ran his tongue between her lips. Myah let out a whine. Arms still tangled in the shirt, dropped to her chest as Frank’s tongue ran back and forth over her. His growl reverberated through her hips and his fingers dug into them, pulling her into his face as close as he could. Her bated breath quickly became strangled panting as he developed a rhythm, heavily laving at her before sucking her clit between his lips.

“ _Frank_!” Myah practically screeched, back arching off the bed. She tugged the rest of the shirt off, hand finally free to grip at his scalp. Frank merely seemed encouraged by her noises, his mouth moving faster on her until joining with his fingers. Sliding two inside her, he couldn’t help but smirk against her at the feel of her heels digging into his back, grunting when she tugged harder at his hair.

He dragged his fingers out slow enough to feel her clench around them. His tongue flicked at her clit, repeatedly tugging it with his lips until she was coming, hips bucking toward his face.

His name was cried out like a prayer, a sound he hadn’t been familiar with in years. He dragged his mouth up from between her legs, ran his tongue up her belly, nipped at her ribcage, until he covered her torso with his. As soon as she could, she grabbed him by the neck, muffling the rest of her moans with his mouth while she kissed him, tasting herself on his lips. She was needy now, hands clenching and nails digging into every bit of him she could.

Frank released her only to undo his belt. The sound of the buckle echoed in her ears and she suddenly let go, wanting to see him. Belt undone, he worked his pants down, boxer briefs following, Myah assisting, using her feet to shove them the rest of the way down his legs. She gulped at the sight of him; he was bigger than she imagined and she certainly hadn’t pictured him small.

He hesitated for just a second. Was thinking the same thing she was – that things wouldn’t be the same after. But who really gave a shit about that when you’d be risking each other’s lives the next day?

A slight adjustment and a swift thrust and she was crying out as he filled her; hands desperately grabbing at his waist as he sunk in, stretching her around him. It’d been around as long for them both and Frank stilled inside her, whimpers escaping his mouth, a sound she never thought she’d hear escape his lips. She’d barely adjusted to him and he was pulling out, thrusting back inside her with a low groan.

He grabbed one of her arms, pinned it to the bed above her shoulder so he could ravage her breast with his mouth. His other hand gripped at the back of her neck, snaking into her hair. He’d savor every bit of her, seeking distraction. She was so tight and warm around him and he wanted this to last as long as possible.

Teeth sunk in around her nipple and she was sobbing, back arching again, giving him leave. Her nails raked his back and her legs encircled him, squeezing him to her as hard as she could. His thrusts were steadily becoming rougher and deeper. There was a slight tussle until Frank was on his knees, had Myah in his lap, mashed her between his own body and the headboard. The switch in position had her moans raising higher, each of his thrusts causing a sharp outburst.

“I do -” he muttered between grunts, “- have neighbors.”

She groaned in response and pressed her hand to his face, a weak attempt to push him away. Gave his ass a smack for good measure. Frank laughed, a real laugh, and they were moving again, till he had her pinned once more on the mattress.

He wanted to watch now; held her down by the throat, muffling her volume. He bore his eyes into hers; the way she stared back at him only egged him on, and he picked up the pace. The room was soon filled with the sound of skin smacking on skin as he thrust into her harder, faster, till she was calling out his name again. Her nails flailed at his skin and her body became spasmodic as she came once more.

Frank pressed his head to the swell of her breasts, kept the pace till her clenching and moaning and grasping brought on his own orgasm. His shout turned into a moan, squeezing out of his throat, just barely being muffled by her chest. He moved in and out of her twice more, milking what was left inside him, spilling much more into her than any average fuck.

They collapsed into a tangle of limbs, heaving as they recovered. Both of them covered in a sheet of sweat.

 

 

It was around an hour from then when they went at it again. Myah winding up on top of him, dragging sounds out of Frank that she continued to think were impossible for him to make. By the early hours of the morning, they lay spent. Frank on his back, while she was between his legs, head resting – nuzzling sometimes – at his lower belly. His fist was fixed in her hair.

He thought back to that night they got drunk together, and he had first entertained the idea of what it would be like, never wanting to let her go. And now she had decided she had to leave. It’d been so long that it felt like the first time in his life Frank felt fear. Fear of losing her. And with it a sense of certainty. His feelings for her were not only unchanged, but immensely solidified, and he knew he would do whatever was required to keep her.

 

 

 

 

 

“They’re late.”

“Is that really a problem?”

“Yeah, I kind of want this off like a band-aid.”

Frank huffed in his seat – a stolen Ford Focus this time – and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “You got the vest on, right?”

“Yes.”

“The glock in your boot?”

“Frank, seriously?” Myah asked, slightly offended.

“Shit, all right,” he said, raising his hands in defense.

Myah munched on some McDonald’s fries in the passenger seat. She tilted the little carton in his direction, offering him some.

“I don’t want that greasy shit,” he grumbled. She rolled her eyes, turning in her seat to look at him. “Y’know, for some odd reason I didn’t think you’d be such a _grump_ today. I wonder why.”

Frank had been looking out the window when he snorted suddenly. He ducked his head before smiling shyly at her from underneath his hat. A smug smirk played at her lips but her attention averted from dirty thoughts to the rearview mirror. Frank’s smile vanished to look at his side view. They’d said nothing, but both spotted a Nissan Acura driving around the block twice beforehand, this being the third.

“Okay, I’m getting out.”

Frank looked at her again. It almost seemed like he wanted to say something but she wasn’t going to waste more time to force it out of him. Instead, she found herself starting to lean in for a kiss, but he gave her a startled look and she thought better of it.

He was shifting the car into drive before she’d even fully gotten out.

She fixed her sweatshirt, tucked the brass knuckles into the front of her pants and crossed the street. Her boss told her to meet the boys in a somewhat secluded block by the harbor. Everything shady in the Kitchen occurred by the harbor, apparently.

She wasn’t nervous as she made her way down an alley. Many times, she’d been told it was meant to come down to this and for the first time, she was content with that. Regardless of today’s or tomorrow’s outcome, her stretch of killing for gangsters would be over. She’d get her life back even if it meant her own demise.

Half a block away from the meet point and a figure stopped her in her tracks. Through the flurry of snow and the heavy, concealing jacket she was able to recognize him.

“Joey,” she cooed, “How’d I know they were gonna send you?” Silently, she cursed Matt for that fifty.

Joey was around five foot, eleven inches, slightly heavyset with a dirty blonde beard that covered his double chin. For as long as she’d known him, he’d been balding and now in his fifties, there was hardly a strand of hair left. He was also known in the mob for being a merciless bastard; usually strangled his victims with a thin wire. It was the only answer she needed – they were definitely trying to have her killed.

“ _May_ ,” he swooned back, raising his arms. With much disdain, Myah let him hug her and kiss her cheek. It was always this way when seeing the family. They’d all known her since she was a kid, and treated her as such. Hence the nickname May. “You look as good as ever.”

“Don’t kiss my ass, Joe, save it for your boss.”

There was a flash of irritation behind his eyes, but he forced it down with a smile. He gestured down the alley and they started a slow stroll. It wasn’t long before she felt they were being followed.

“Couple questions before we talk business,” he started.

Myah nodded absentmindedly. Instead she was keeping a lookout; she was sure the man leering behind them was with Joey and there was probably someone else lingering nearby. An apartment’s courtyard mysteriously cleared out as they started to waltz through it.

“You know anything about that Punisher guy?”

The question took her so off guard she nearly tripped over her own foot. “Huh?”

“Frank Castle,” he continued, not noticing her slight. “Do you know anything about him?”

She swallowed hard. Put on her best poker face. This certainly wasn’t a conversation she was expecting to have. “Just what I’ve seen in the papers. He’s been quiet lately, no?”

Joey tilted his head, contemplating. “Boss thought it was odd.”

“What?” Myah asked, maybe a little too strongly. She stopped walking, forcing him to stop as well.

“How many Serbs you been assigned since you been here?”

“Three.”

“Right. But five were dropped before your little escapade in their den.” Myah remembered this; it was the same conversation she had with Matt Murdock when they first met. Joey raised his hands in her face, ticking off fingers. “Same MO, no witnesses, unmarked caliber. You take out those extra two?”

“No.” Myah replied. Ignored the urge to say yes. She was predicting the conversation now. Knew where this was headed.

“So, what other expert snipe we got in this city, if it wasn’t you?” It was a rhetorical question. If Frank had taken down the two extra, he hadn’t mentioned it. And immediately her stomach warmed; it wouldn’t be a coincidence of him tracking down Serbs. He had been watching her back.

“We don’t mind our competition dwindling, May,” Joey said slowly. He bent low to speak in her face in a way that made her hand itch for her brass knuckles. “But we do mind snitches.”

“I told you – I don’t know him.”

“This is just a huge coincidence, then?” He didn’t wait for her to answer before ranting on. “How’d you get outta that den, anyway? Seventeen bodies down in there, that was all you? You got balls, girl, but t’boss doubts they’re that big.”

A surge of anger coursed through her. There was no sense arguing with him now, she knew. They’d made up their mind. This wasn’t the time for debate.

His next question was cut short when her fist collided with his jaw. He was taken aback enough for her to slip on her brass knuckles, send another jab to his cheekbone, immediately following through with a left hook.

Joey’s eyes were wide with shock – he stumbled, spitting out blood and just as she wound up for a kick between his legs, a wire was thrown over her head and tugged tight around her neck. She completely lost her footing, would’ve landed on the ground if it weren’t for the man holding her up.

She gagged and choked and he squeezed tighter, cutting oxygen off. In a panic, she swung her legs up in the air, tried using her weight to throw them both forward, but he stood his ground. Joey meanwhile smiled at her, wiping blood from his mouth as he pulled out a knife.

She was starting to see spots; the last bit of energy she used was slammed into the man’s kneecap. Over and over, she drilled the brass knuckles against his knee until he screamed in pain. He hitched forward and her ass hit the ground.

Joey finally moved to help but froze at the sound of a gunshot. Myah was hardly aware of it until she was suddenly able to breathe again. Air forced itself into her lungs and she was hacking, grasping at her throat. Joey was circling wildly, knife flailing about to find the source of the shooter.

Meanwhile, Myah pulled the glock out of her boot. Shot him twice in the meat of his thigh. He fell with a loud thud and wailed, holding his leg.

Still coughing, Myah looked behind her to see her strangler dead on the ground, gunshot wound to his head. She forced herself to rise; was still uneasy from the oxygen deprivation. Standing over Joey, she tilted her head, watching him try to apply pressure to his wounds that would inevitably bring his death whether she finished him off or not.

“How many men?” She asked, voice raspy.

“Fuck you, bitch!” He shouted.

With a small smile, she cleared her throat, fired a shot at his other leg. He screamed and threw himself onto his back and she stepped forward till she stood above him.

“How many men?” She asked again.

“How many men, what?!”

“How many know about me? Who’s coming for me?” She coughed again, but pulled the hammer back once more, took aim between his eyes.

The blood loss was getting to him. He slurred as he spoke. “We _all_ know about you, sweetheart… you’ll never be safe in this city aga-”

She took the last shot. Tucked the gun away, looked around to make sure no one else was there. Pulling her hood up, she made a beeline in the opposite direction they’d come from, wanting to get back in a populated area as soon as possible.

She’d nearly made it to a main road when she was jumped again. A stocky man who rammed into her like a football player, his path stopped by a dumpster, crushing her in between them. The wind was yet again knocked out of her and she wheezed, ducking when he tried punching her. His fist hit the metal and she sent an uppercut into his crotch.

Instead of curling in pain like most men did, he roared in rage, grabbed her by the shoulders to lift her from the ground, and kicked her right in the stomach, sending her backwards. She lay on the ground, gasping for air. Newly healed ribs were throbbing yet again.

The man stalked over her, pulled a pistol out. There was the sound of quick, approaching footsteps and suddenly he was hit in the back of the head. He whipped around only to be punched repeatedly in the face, catch an elbow to his nose, then be shoved into the dumpster by Frank. In a daze, he attempted to fight back; Frank blocked every hit, grabbed him by the collar of his jacket and slammed his head into the lid of the dumpster. In his last-ditch effort, he tried firing off his pistol. Frank snapped his arm with a resounding _crack_ , took hold of his skull and gave it a quick, firm twist.

Myah watched the man fall lifeless to the ground.

Frank didn’t wait for her to recover. He practically dragged her across the pavement, with fistfuls of her sweatshirt hoisting her up. “C’mon,” he muttered. She was amazed by his strength and swiftness, but merely tried to stifle her coughs as they made their getaway.

 

Back in the car, Frank worried over her neck. The wire cut through the first layer of skin; minimal damage but the beads of blood that wrapped around her like a necklace were gnarly to look at.

“It’s okay, Frank,” she croaked while he tilted her head back and forth. “And thanks for the back up.”

“What’d those shitbags have to say?” He asked. He reached for the glove compartment and rifled through it, disappointed to find no sort of First Aid in the stolen vehicle.

“I think you need to find a dog sitter,” she said dryly. Frank started driving and she started working off her sweatshirt and bulletproof vest, feeling claustrophobic from the heat of exertion. “They’re convinced we’ve been working together, that I’m a snitch and giving you intel. I denied as much as possible but no dice. They made up their mind.”

“Well… shit.” Was all he said.

“Shit.” She agreed. “They’ve been thinking about it a while now, I don’t know for how long but my guess is that they’re gonna be coming for you, too.” She took a break from talking to cough some more. All that was in the car was Frank’s old coffee and she took a sip, grimaced and rolled down the window to dump the rest out.


End file.
